The Curse of Tartarus
by thein273
Summary: Annabeth Chase broke up with her boyfriend, Percy Jackson, after he disappeared for 4 months. Now, a mutual friend asks the exes for a favor and they both go to help. But will this favor unearth something the Olympians have struggled to keep secret, and how will Percy take this startling revelation? After TLO, no HoO. Period. Better summary inside. Rated M for language and content.
1. Pale Faced Freaks Part I

However much I might desperately wish I owned fabulous books known as Percy Jackson, alas, I do not. Other references made throughout this story belong to their respective owners. Seeming it is completely ridiculous to even think a story posted anonymously on the internet the property of said faceless author, I will not claim rights to original characters. If you like them, use them. However, if I find out you stole that character specifically and you screw them up, expect some serious ranting.

Unless the rest of the story is good. Then you're fine.

* * *

The Curse of Tartarus Synopsis: One year ago, Annabeth Chase was stood up by her recent boyfriend, Percy Jackson, who completely broke off contact with her for four long, agonizing months. When he finally came back, she dumped him and swore to have nothing more to do with him.

Until a mutual friend asks for a favor.

Apparently, an abnormally powerful half-blood has surfaced at Nico di Angelo's school in New Hampshire, and he's called in the big guns. Although dealing with an unaware half-blood should be a piece of cake for the two seasoned demigods, their own social difficulties might just get in the way. Not to mention a secret taboo even among the gods, and one that might just test Percy Jackson to his limits...

* * *

Chapter One Pale-Faced Freaks

I tried desperately to ignore the blonde-haired she-demon sitting next to me on the passenger's side. Annabeth Chase seemed determined to pretend the small Toyota Camry was moving of its own accord, and her ex was not driving her to a dance.

She had gone all out on behalf of our friend, probably trying to make it look believable. Her blonde hair was tied back in a pretty bun, and she wore a dress vaguely resembling the Greek design. She had on some makeup, which she never did even when we were dating, and it seemed to really bring out her stormy grey eyes. Not that I noticed, of course. I was driving, and I no longer had any interest romantically in Annabeth whatsoever.

I couldn't blame her for hating me, though. I did kind of stand her up, and then disappear for four months, but the stubborn daughter of Athena refused to listen to my reasons. If she had...well, I had no idea where we'd be right then, but it wouldn't have been on our way to New Hampshire.

A few days ago, Annabeth and I had received an Iris message from our friend, Nico di Angelo, asking for us to help him with an unaware half-blood he had found in his new school. We'd had one hell of a time getting him enrolled in a school, considering all of his records were from the 40's and probably didn't even exist anymore. Thankfully, though, we'd found one that would take him. He claimed he hated it there, but he was still going, so that had to count for something.

Annabeth leaned forward and opened the glove compartment. I briefly considered warning her, but considering her attitude lately, I decided to let her suffer. As soon as the door popped open, she screamed. I struggled not to look smug when I turned to her in indifference. She stared in horror as the fake, yet surprisingly realistic mechanic spider rolled over on its back in her palm. I made a mental note to thank Jake Mason when I next saw him.

Annabeth was terrified of spiders. The little monsters tended to find her. After all, her mother did kind of curse their mother, Arachne. Anyway, Annabeth had such severe arachnophobia that she was literally paralyzed in sight of one. Back when we were dating, she'd have me kill them, but now that we were broken up, she flatly refused to let me help her at all.

Typical girl.

"Whose idea was that, Jackson?" she demanded. I rolled my eyes. Another habit she had developed. Now she always called me by my last name.

"My lips are sealed." I told her, eyes still focused on the narrow highway. It was pretty treacherous. The road was slick, and it snaked its way up a steep mountainside. Take that with the pitch black night and you had a pretty dangerous situation. I thrived in dangerous situations.

Annabeth crossed her arms. She liked to ignore me, so I gave her the silent treatment right back. It helped to keep my distance when I started feeling wistful.

The rest of the drive was dead silent. When I finally pulled into the school's "parking lot" it was already ten at night. Judging by the loud music coming from inside, though, the dance wasn't even winding down yet.

Thankfully, Annabeth was wearing nice flats instead of heels like I'd seen her consider when getting ready at my place. "I want to look believable." she told me. Yeah, but if we got into a fight trying to rescue the half-blood, I doubted three-inch high heels would help much.

We jogged inside. I felt severe Dèja vu roaming through those halls. They had the same eerie feeling of the castle school we had first found Nico in. Like an evil knight's castle, really. I shook off the feeling and followed the sounds.

When we reached the double doors leading to the dance area, I wanted to die. It looked identical to Westover Hall. It didn't bode well for the future.

So Annabeth and I tried to blend with the scenery. Nobody paid us much attention, except of course the teachers. They didn't bother us, but I got the feeling they knew we weren't regular students. I got ready to use the Mist. If push came to shove, I'd have to fool the mortals into believing we were safe.

"So," I said. I wasn't trying to talk to Annabeth, but she was really the only person listening. "What do we do now?"

"Act normal." Way too close to Thalia's words at Westover. Okay, this was going to kill me. "Gee, here's a radical idea. How about you learn how to dance?" She was being so painfully sarcastic I felt my teeth grind. I shot her a dirty look, when I realized something. I forced myself into an impassive expression as I offered her my hand. She stuck her tongue out at me and gripped it firmly.

"Let up, Chase. You're gonna crush my hand." I told her. She smiled and loosened her grip reluctantly and led me off further onto the dance floor. "I'm warning you," I told her. "I can't dance."

"You can't do anything. Now just start dancing."

"Aren't you going to lead?" I asked innocently. She grinned and winked at me.

"Let's see how you do on your own." I pretended to be nervous. I kind of crawled along through a really lame slow song which set my teeth on edge, pretending to trip over myself in haste. Annabeth grunted several times when I stomped on her feet. But she wanted to prolong my embarrassment.

Then the music changed. It picked up the beat, and I recognized the classic rhythm. That's when I took out all the stops.

I spun Annabeth around so suddenly she let out a very undignified yelp. Her eyes widened when she realized she'd been played. I started falling back into the lessons I'd been given in Classical Dance. I had been screwed over when being picked. I was one of the last people to choose an elective, and by the time I got a chance, that was all there was open. Well, that and "Twain Exploration," which my dyslexia kind of eliminates as an option. So I was forced to learn that, and my mom wasn't very sympathetic. She made me practice with her, much to my step-dad's amusement. Therefore, dealing with an attitude problem like Annabeth Chase wasn't an issue.

I led her up and down the floor, stunning the onlookers, who gathered around in shock. Some started clapping along to the rhythm, and Annabeth's surprise started to give way to the ghost of a smile. She let out a laugh as I spun her over and over. Her dress rose and wrapped around her legs. I caught her as she fell and landed her on my left arm, just as the music came to a close.

Annabeth's lips were a hair's breadth away from mine. It would've been so easy just to kiss her, and she didn't look very objectionable. Poseidon knew I had never wanted to break it off with her. After all, I had fallen in love with her.

Is a moment of happiness worth her life and your sanity, Perseus Jackson?

My heart skipped a beat when I heard the familiar voice in my head. I pulled away and held her at arm's length. Her expression changed instantly, like she'd been slapped. "I'm going to get some punch." I said quickly, and immediately turned and walked away before I could let her see the cold terror threatening to grip my chest.

* * *

I really hated Perseus Jackson.

First, the guy expresses an obvious interest in me, and then does something stupid like stand me up and not call me for four months. I was willing to believe something had happened and it wasn't his fault, but that knowledge was also contingent on the fact I found out about it and went to help him. But when he turned back up at camp, completely unharmed and acting casually about it all, I lost it. What kind of boyfriend disappears like that? I was afraid he was dead.

Now we have this. A stupid quest practically identical to the one we went on to rescue Nico and his now dead-sister, Bianca. It was kind of ironic, really, and a huge slap in the face for me. I had no idea about Percy, but that day was when I started realizing how I felt about him. Not that I felt that way after what he pulled, but still.

My head was still spinning from being whisked around the dance floor like that. I'd never watched "Dancing with the Stars," but I was fairly sure what we just did was pretty good competition. Although, how much of it was psychological and wishful thinking, I wasn't sure, but when he caught me just at the end of that song-I wasn't paying attention to what it had been-I was pretty sure he was going to kiss me. He certainly looked like he wanted to, and I wasn't about to complain, but then he tensed like he'd been hit and pushed me away. I felt like the plague.

I watched him disappear into the dancing couples with a longing I won't admit to. I'll say it, when I broke up with him; it was because he hadn't talked to me in months, not because I didn't like him. Percy and I, well, we'd literally fought alongside each other. I thought a relationship couldn't get much stronger than that.

I hugged myself self-consciously and pushed down a wave of jealousy when a bunch of cheerleader-looking types giggled and ran after my ex-boyfriend. A lot of them were pretty, but they still had nothing in the looks department compared to some of the Aphrodite girls at camp trying to get Percy to take them to the Fireworks on Independence Day. We'd gone together before, only once really as a couple, and I missed it. I missed a lot of things we used to do.

I turned around and listened to the melancholy music playing. Who had the idea of playing "Someone Like You" by Adele at a school dance? No one with a brain, that's who. I tried not to pay attention to the words s I looked around. "Where's your date?" A black-haired girl asked me before her boyfriend pulled her away down the dance floor. I huffed indignantly.

"Don't need a date," I muttered to myself. "I can dance with myself." Then I remembered why I was there.

I started looking around for Nico. After looking for a good seven minutes, I was starting to think he had lied when he told us he'd be going to the dance. Nico wasn't much for social gatherings. Being a son of Hades, god and supreme controller of the dead, he could pretty much summon someone to chat with whenever he wanted, as long as they were dead. So either he didn't talk at all, or he preferred to converse with the deceased.

I was about to give up entirely when I spotted him. Not off the dance floor, looking for Percy and me, not standing idly in the middle insulting anyone who tried to dance with him, not even looking downtrodden and dancing by himself. He was dancing with a girl.

She was beautiful. Her fiery hair bounced as she moved about. Nico wasn't the best fighter, but he preferred the sword, and I couldn't tell if his training helped him dance at all, because he kept stumbling over himself. But he was smiling and laughing. That was truly a rare sight to behold. She was so clearly leading it wasn't even funny, but Nico didn't care.

Then he saw me. His expression immediately hardened and he motioned for the girl to follow him. I tried to remember what her name was, but I never credited Nico much with his people skills. He probably couldn't remember what her actual name was.

"Hey," I said nonchalantly when the girl roared with laughter on Nico's shoulder. He chuckled, but then his eyes widened and he stopped. He was red-faced. "You're..." he shot me a dark glare.

"What?" she asked. "Oh, I'm Alex. Don't let this stick in the mud fool you. Nobody forced him to come. He asked me." She smiled and kissed Nico gently on the lips. I was relieved Percy hadn't gotten me that punch already, because I would've spit it out all over Alex's nice blue dress. "I'm sorry, Nico never mentioned you, and I haven't seen you around at all."

I smiled as honestly as I could. It was actually hard not to grin like a maniac, so it wasn't as hard as it would seem. "Nah, my cousin and I are new here. We got enrolled a couple weeks ago, but something came up in the family and we had to handle it. But starting tonight, we plan to become regular students." Nico winced. Probably wasn't thrilled about me lying to his girlfriend, I supposed.

"Cousin?" Alex asked. Her eyes flashed over to Nico in alarm. "Nico just told me you were coming here with your boyfriend." I resisted the overwhelming urge to draw my knife, tucked safely in the belt of the pants I was wearing underneath the impossible dress, and run Nico through with it. Even I could hear the strain in my tone over the next few words.

"Oh, you caught me. Percy and I broke up, a long time ago." I glowered at Nico, who seemed intent on the floor.

"I said ex." he told me. "I said ex, didn't I, Alex? I said ex." he repeated. Alright, if he was that afraid of me, I guessed I could cut him some slack. Not much, but some.

"Hey," a girl jogged over. It was the same one who had asked me where my date was earlier. "Um, my girlfriends and I were wondering where your hot date is? Not that we want to steal him or anything, we just want to know where he learned to dance like that. And, you know, if you two ever break up..."

"Ancient history," I said quickly. The girl looked up in hopeful surprise. "He's been looking for a girlfriend for a while. I'm sure he'd love it if you danced with him." I smiled at her, and she squealed in delight. "He's getting punch." She ran off, three girls in close pursuit.

Nico looked pissed. "What the hell, Annabeth? I know you're still a little vengeful toward him, but sending that many girls after him? You know how scared of women he is!" I did my best evil grin and batted my eyelashes innocently at him. Nico groaned in defeat. "Which is of course your intent." Then he looked up suspiciously. "Wait, what were they saying about dancing?"

"Oh, it was nothing." I said quickly. "Percy and I made a kind of...bet. He agreed to dance with me, and I...well, I..."

"Won?" Nico supplied helpfully. I shot him a very dark look, and he pursed his lips. "How did you not know he took Classic dance? He was the brunt of every joke at camp." I stared at him in horror. Alex looked interested.

"Camp?" she said, maybe a little too innocently.

"We went to a summer camp," I said quickly, before Nico could dig us an even deeper hole. "That's where we all met." Then I turned back to the son of Hades. "He took lessons?" I asked weakly.

"It was an elective at Goodie. Percy was like, the last person to get chosen, so he had to choose between that and something to do with Mark Twain." I nodded. Now I had bribery material. Of course, everyone now knew except me, and he just seriously showed me up on the dance floor. My window of opportunity was long gone. I sighed dejectedly, and I heard a laugh Nico tried and failed to cover up as a cough.

"Well, it sounds like you know more about my boyfriend than I do, and I will not have that. I'm going to go request something other than Bieber, and then I'll be back, expecting a full explanation as to what happened at this camp." I smiled weakly and gulped back my fear.

Nico turned to face me. "Why do you treat Percy like he's a piece of crap?"

"If that was any of your business, Nico..." I warned. He reluctantly relented, putting his arms up in mock surrender.

"Fine, I get the point, but still. You and him were best friends long before you started dating, and the moment you broke up you were suddenly each other's' worst enemy. It's a little childish, honestly."

"I have about a dozen 'childish' things to add to your list, Nico. Don't push me." Nico shook his head, and then I saw Percy appear in the crowd.

But something was wrong.

* * *

The timing's way off. There's no way you heard him in your head. Snap out of it, Jackson. You're fine. He's not in your head yet. You're okay.

I told myself other such things as I blew past the punch station and burst through the restroom doors at the other end of the gym. I locked the door securely behind me and sagged against the sink. I looked up at the mirror hanging on the wall, smeared with lipstick and black gunk I couldn't identify, and tried to calm myself down.

I turned on the sink with my mind and splashed water on my face. Instantly, I felt better. Water always had that effect on me. Being the son of the sea god, Poseidon, I kind of had this weird connection with water. It healed me, I could manipulate it to obey my will, like just now, or I could even breathe underwater. One of the not so great things about it is I attract about ten times the number of monsters for a normal half-blood and turn into a human GPS unit while at sea. But grain of salt, right?

I shook myself out of my stupor. When I looked back up at the mirror, my heart stopped. Staring back at me was not the sea green eyes I had inherited from my father, or my untidy rat's nest of black hair reflected in the glass; but instead a pale-faced wretch with black veins and evil, black orbs for eyes. I stumbled backward, and the toilet exploded in response to my emotions. I quickly shut off the flow and dried the floor with a wave of the hand, but my eyes were focused on my reflection. It was back to normal. Not even a deforming scar across the face. My face was its usual skin tone, although some of the color had been drained from fear.

I shuddered nervously and gave myself a brief pep-talk. "Relax. He can't get to you here. He's down there, you're up here. He's down there, you're up here." I told myself that over and over again. Then I remembered what I'd told Annabeth about the punch. I decided to make up a lie and sneak back out to meet with her and Nico.

As I emerged into the growing crowd, and became lost in my grim thoughts. I couldn't help but resent that selfish goddess, Hera, for forcing me to go on a quest when I was supposed to be on a date with Annabeth. That would've been fine if it wasn't our five year anniversary, if she'd let me call my girlfriend to tell her. Hera needed some stupid feather from a bewitched peacock for reasons unknown, and she chose yours truly as her champion to go get it. Well, I brought back her stupid peacock feather, but before I could head back into the city to meet with Annabeth before my window ran dry, I was surrounded by the ugliest looking monsters I had ever seen. They had teeth nasty enough to make one of Blackbeard's men keel over dead, and breath to match. Foamy mouthed, blood-stain lipped, evil, disgusting monsters all intent on killing me. I tried to drive over a whole bunch of them, but to my horror, the car was stopped dead. The engine died, leaving me stranded in the middle of a horde of hungry demons who wanted Percy meat. I got out of the car and stood my ground. I took refuge behind the engine block, but that can't stop a bullet from behind.

If you're reading this, I'm guessing you've never died. Let me share, it isn't fun. I never saw a shining light or a long tunnel. There was no stairwell leading to eternity, just a lot of sharp pain in a short amount of time and darkness. I screamed as the bullet tore into my chest and lodged in my torso. I still had the bullet there, which was why I never went through airport security (not that I ever flew, mind you) or agreed to get scanned for anything. I'd rather die from a tumor than have to explain dying to my worry-wart mother.

I waited to float to Charon's ferry, the conventional means of transport between the land of the living and the dead, but I never did. The really scary, freaky thing was I could think. Cognitively, I could still function, but I could not act on my impulses. I wasn't even paralyzed. There was nothing of me to move. I was in pitch black, and I could open my eyes or feel something. I knew I was dead, but it didn't feel like death should've felt like. I stayed like that, in a kind of stasis, for what felt like centuries before I was taken out of it.

When I woke up, I was chained to a wall and a small cramped cell barely big enough to fit two people. Sitting on a blood-red chair in the corner was the most hideous creature I had ever seen. I will admit to letting out a very unmanly scream when I saw him, if that will get his ugliness across to you. It was the same image I had seen in the mirror, only crisper and worse. In his hand he held a rippled blade, shaped like a winding river, stained red and colored blacker than Nico di Angelo's Stygian iron sword. He was sharpening it on...okay, he wasn't sharpening it. He was carving things into a severed foot. I will not go into detail describing the following scene, because if I hadn't been dead, I would've thrown up too. Suffice to say, however, that what people think is horrible with the Spanish Inquisition; all the wicked torture devices meant to either kill or force to talk had nothing on the creativity of that sick monster.

He came by the name "Torturer" honestly.

Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore and I'd break, I got an idea. I pretended I'd gone crazy and started screaming my head off. His guardsmen came rushing in, intending to subdue me, but I beat them to the punch. On the way out, I opened a couple cells hoping I might have saved someone else from that horror. I never found out one way or another, because I sprinted for freedom as fast as I could.

It took me awhile to come back to my senses, and when I saw a calendar, I thought I still had time to mend things with Annabeth. I'd forgotten what month it had been when the Torturer got a hold of me. So when I arrived back at camp, hoping to patch things up and make it work with my girlfriend, she completely lost it. I couldn't blame her, but there just wasn't any way I could tell her about my ordeal in Tartarus. Then, when the poison started festering, I was forced to hide out by Montauk in a small cabin built by a bunch of Cyclopes under my half-brother's command. It was protected by the gods, so I could hide out there while the leftover Torturer left my system.

I'd managed to figure out the poison started acting up every three months, with about a week's window of uncertainty. Usually, I didn't have a problem with the Torturer going off in my head for at least two months after the poison, and it was only one month. The cycle was off. I know I sound like a woman right now, but the poison sets in like clockwork.

I managed, with difficulty, to grab some punch for Annabeth and me, while narrowing avoiding a bunch of screaming girls demanding I dance with them. You'd think after fighting the king of Titans himself that nothing can scare you, but seriously, try telling a bunch of crazed teenager girls "no." It's more horrifying than anything the Torturer could dream up.

When I managed to find my ex, she was talking to Nico and looked concerned. I thought something had gone wrong with the half-blood we were supposed to rescue, so I ran over. "What's going on? Where's the new kid?"

"Her name's Alex." Nico said, a little too shortly. "And she's fine. You, however, look worse than most of my dad's minions. What's wrong with you?" I swallowed nervously and tried to kill whatever horrified expression I might have been wearing. I handed Annabeth her punch nonchalantly.

"Nothing's wrong with me. You two just looked like I had hellhounds nipping at my heels." I smiled calmly, but I could see neither of my friends was convinced. They both looked skeptical, and I bit back the urge to babble. "Seriously. I'm great." I sipped my punch, and Nico seemed to relax. Annabeth, on the other hand, was still eyeing me carefully.

"So," Nico began, crossing his arms over his chest. "You never told Annabeth about the dancing lessons." I suppressed the urge to laugh. I'd almost forgotten about our little dance. It brought a smile to my face I hadn't legitimately worn in almost a year, ever since the Torturer abducted me from Judgment. "Typical you, Percy."

Then a red-haired girl appeared behind me. "Hey," she said. "You must be Annabeth's boyfriend."

"Ex." Annabeth and I said at the same time.

Alex laughed and held out her hand. "I'm Alex," she told me.

"Yeah, I've heard." I shot Nico a look, and Alex chuckled.

"Yeah, well, can't expect the boy to be very secretive. After all, we are dating."

I nearly spit my punch all over her blue dress. "Dating?" I repeated in disbelief.

"I know," Annabeth said. "I was there, too." Alex looked from me, to Annabeth, to her boyfriend. Nico looked ready to die.

"You didn't tell them?" Alex demanded. Nico stared intently at the floor. Alex shook her head and pushed Nico. He stumbled and looked alarmed. "Honestly, first you don't tell me your friends are coming, and then you don't tell them we've been dating for almost a month. Why are you so embarrassed?"

"Nico's not the dating type." I told her hastily, before Nico could dig himself a hole. I knew that as bad as I was with woman, Nico was ten times worse. He could turn even his soulmate against him with a sentence. He flashed me a look of gratitude. "It's more our fault than anyone. We've always teased him about his lack of experience in the field."

"Yeah, well, that I can believe. By the way, your girlfriend, sorry, ex-girlfriend sent a couple possibilities your way. Well, actually it was more like an army..."

I whirled on her with uncontained rage. "I should've smelled you on it. Just because of the spider..."

"You know how much I hate spiders. Who did it? Travis, Connor, maybe it was Jake." I hastily changed the subject before Jake could hear Annabeth's wrath all the way over in New York.

"What does it matter? The stupid spider was fake. That was low."

"A fear for a fear, Jackson!" She roared. I felt like I'd just been hit.

"A fear for a fear," I echoed weakly.

"Yeah, and..." Nico placed a hand on her shoulder when he saw my expression. Annabeth stopped immediately. "Percy, what's wrong?" I didn't even gloat about her using my first name. I was too stunned.

A fear for a fear. The Torturer had said something similar, no, exactly the same the day I escaped from his cell, just as I surfaced into the mortal world. Just because you've gotten out today, Jackson, doesn't mean you've won. One day very soon, the world above will feel my wrath, and you will bring about its end! A fear for a fear!

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Great. Now, um, about you and Nico..."

Alex watched me carefully, like something was dawning on her. She held Nico's hand, and the son of Hades turned red. "We can explain everything, but, uh, I'd rather we not do it where a bunch of people can eavesdrop."

"Relax," Annabeth said. She hadn't see the fear on Alex's face yet. "No one cares. And besides, we're never going to get a word out of di Angelo here." Annabeth jerked her thumb in Nico's direction, but he wasn't paying any attention. He'd seen the apprehension on his girlfriend's face before I had, and now he was looking around for the cause.

"Look, uh, it really is better if we move off the dance floor." Alex urged impatiently.

"Jeez, Nico. You definitely picked one of the bossy ones, didn't you?" Annabeth didn't take well to being ordered around, and clearly Alex's calm tone wasn't settling well with my ex-girlfriend. I watched her eyes dart behind us, and then it clicked.

I turned around and saw two familiar empousa making their way through the crowd. I recognized them immediately. One of them I had killed, and the other one Annabeth had knifed from behind when she'd tried to kill me out of revenge. The African-American one weaved in and out with ease, and her trainee, Tammi, was moving only a little slower. Their true forms seemed to flicker back and forth over their pretty cheerleader figures; one leg of a donkey, one of bronze, and fiery hair. They were hideous in reality, but covered by the Mist, the thin veil that separates the mortal world and the divine, they were knock-dead gorgeous.

"Let's go." I said quickly, and immediately dove into the crowd of dancing teenagers, surprising both Annabeth and Nico. I moved as quickly as I could. I glanced behind me and saw that Alex was dragging Nico by the arm, and Annabeth was reluctantly trailing along behind. I looked back even further and saw that the empousai were gaining on us rapidly. They must have picked up on our scent; three powerful, knowledgeable half-bloods and one undetermined with good eyes. We'd either have to leave or fight them eventually. I was counting on the later.

In the corner I turned to face my friends. Alex turned toward Nico, and he looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Nico, there's something you should know." she began in a whisper. She shot a dirty look at a blonde who was trying to eavesdrop, and she disappeared into the dancing crowd. I was about to interrupt her and tell her about half-bloods when she started again. "You know the mythology lessons, the ones about Greece and Rome? Would you believe me if I told you they were all true?" Nico stared at her, and I was completely caught flat-footed. She was the last person I expected to have figured out about demigods on her own. "I know, it's a lot to take in, but you don't have long. Two monsters are after us right now, and we've got to go. I don't know about your friends, they could be like us, but it might be too dangerous to take them on a whim. Luckily, I know two people, friends of mine, who promised to show me the way to a place called Camp Half-Blood. It's the only place people like you and me can be safe. They're outside. I wasn't going to go until the school year ended and I could earn your trust more, but..."

"Wait just a moment," Annabeth interrupted rudely. "You've known about half-bloods how long?" Alex looked taken aback.

"Don't tell me, you're both from Camp Half-Blood and came here to get Nico and me, right?"

Nico cleared his throat and motioned for Annabeth to shut up. "Actually, Alex, I was here to get you to Camp. That's where all met. Camp Half-Blood. I'm a son of Hades."

"Hades?" she repeated, and then shook her head. "It doesn't matter right now. I assume you two have a car?" She turned to Annabeth and me.

I nodded. "It's mine. We should be able to reach New York in a couple days, but it's only big enough for five. Your friends can't come." Alex swore in Ancient Greek. Yet again, she surprised me. It took me forever before I could cuss fluently in the native tongue of my father, Poseidon.

"Um," she started.

"I'll stay back." Nico said quickly.

"What? Nico, no! It's suicide!" Alex cried.

"Relax, I'll get there ahead of you. I can shadow travel. Remember, Percy?" I nodded as the memory came flooding back. Annabeth stared at Nico. "All shadows are technically connected, so creatures of the Underworld can use them as a gateway. I'll arrive at Camp Half-Blood before any of you. The other half-bloods can ride with you guys."

Granted, I didn't like it. Splitting up was never good, but I didn't see a better alternative. So I nodded and steered the others toward the double doors, when a gunshot echoed through the gymnasium.

"Everybody down!"

* * *

You guys can go ahead and guess who the mysterious gunman is. Or are...

Alright, this is what can be considered an unbelievably long chapter. When I finally transferred it to a Microsoft Word Document, it came to fifteen pages. Now I know you guys do not want to read that much on the computer. It gets complicated and difficult and I am not going to put you through that. Now then, I don't care if you consider the next part to be the second chapter or just a continuation of the first, but I'm not giving it its own name. It's just Part II.

As opposed to The Forgotten Fear, for those who have read it, this story follows the set dynamic at the end of The Last Olympian. It does not, however, as might have been inferred by the content of this chapter, follow any part of the Heroes of Olympus. Give me a break, okay? This thing has been sitting dormant on my computer for years, so The Lost Hero wasn't even common knowledge when I started typing this thing. And now I figure it's too awesome a story to hog.

Also for those readers of Forgotten Fear, you might have noticed the reappearance of The Torturer. There is a justification for that. The Torturer is just fun to write and it's annoying coming up with new characters forever. Some of the details in this thing are the same as Forgotten Fear, but I'm not stupid so don't expect everything to be divulged. And events are certainly going to be very different considering Forgotten Fear assimilates the Heroes of Olympus and this doesn't. Period. No changing. No altering. And no negotiations.

The only points of view for this are going to be Annabeth and Percy. Later on, Percy's gets a little hazy, but it should become apparent real fast what's going on. I'm sorry if my characters aren't true to themselves, and I know Percy is acting strangely, but in case you haven't read my other stories, I deliberately alter stuff and give large holes in the timeline just to excuse these poor imitations of the characters behavior. Sadly, I don't have five years of a loophole here, so Percy Jackson and the others are only slightly changed.

I know Nico is so far from the fictional reality in which this is allegedly unfolding, but the sake of whatever deity actually does preside over us, Riordan gives me a headache trying to knock his character on the head. So this Nico is somewhere in between the little kid from The Titan's Curse and his behaviors in the books following. And besides, he has a girlfriend now. He's changed.

As for questions, ask away! I just won't answer the majority of them. However, commentary-good or bad-is more than welcome.

So please review, because I might have written the story for my own enjoyment, but I didn't put this entire page worth of an Author's Note for my pleasure.


	2. Pale Faced Freaks Part II

**Part II of Chapter One: Pale-Faced Freaks**

EVERYBODY WENT DOWN. In the end, only the two monsters and two half-bloods were still standing. Annabeth and Alex had dove under a table, and Nico and me crouched down low to the ground, ready to attack. The shadows rippled around Nico, and his three foot long Stygian iron sword, black as night, appeared in his right hand. I drew my own sword, Riptide, and uncapped the ballpoint pen. I felt it grow heavier in my hand, and then my trusted blade was rested in my palm. It felt good to hold it again.  
"Luke?" Alex said breathlessly. I looked back at her in shock because I recognized the name, but it was impossible. That man was dead. Apparently, Annabeth had heard it too, because she poked her head out from the under the table and stared at Alex. I turned back to the gunman, and saw that he wasn't pointing the gun at anyone. He had thrown it aside, and was now standing next to a girl in an oversized jacket and ratty baseball cap, her bow drawn back fully. Kelli, the older of the two monsters, only had enough time to screech as the arrow flew and embedded itself in her chest. She burst into golden dust. Tammi, her initiate, followed shortly thereafter. Through the dead silence of the gym-not even the music was playing anymore-the girl's words were clear.  
"Was that really necessary?" she demanded, dropping the bow and turning to her companion in disbelief.  
"Hey, you wanted a clear shot." he argued in embarrassment. Alex shook her head, and I was beyond shocked.  
I recognized the girl and the boy, their voices, their forms. Both of them, however, were dead. It was Luke Castellan and Bianca di Angelo. I'd seen both die.  
Nico stood abruptly, and I pulled him back down before his undead sister could see him. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "That's my sister!"  
"I know, and I'm stopping you from making an idiot of yourself. She doesn't know you're here. And have you noticed her friend yet? She probably doesn't know that's Luke."  
"Yes, she does." Alex interrupted. "Luke was, um, a traitor, but he changed. He's been watching after her for a while now. They helped me. That's how we met." Alex pushed herself to her feet and called out, "Bianca! Luke! Over here!"  
Nico shot to his feet and stared on the approaching half-bloods in shock. I knew why. One of the demigods was his undead sister, Bianca di Angelo. It was her alright; same black hair, same dark eyes. The last time I had seen her was when she ran up into the maintenance hatch of a defective automation to save my life. It was alarming to see her back alive, but at the same time, I felt a growing apprehension in my chest. Bianca was alive? How was that possible? Unless...  
Tartarus.  
It was the only logical assumption. Luke as well, no doubt. So the two cells I had opened on my way to freedom had freed two others. I wasn't sure if I was overly thrilled about whom, though. Luke might have changed his ways in the end, but he still had a lot of blood on his hands. If it came to a fight with the Torturer, I wasn't sure I wanted Luke on my side.  
Hey, where'd that come from? The Torturer was still safely imprisoned in Tartarus, even more tightly trapped than even Kronos. There was no reason for me to be thinking that way. _Just keep telling yourself that, Jackson. Just keep telling yourself that._ I fought to ignore the voice in my head.  
Then Nico took a step forward.  
I lunged after him and pulled him back down. "Hey!" he shouted angrily.  
"Shush!" I hissed, glancing over at Bianca, who was talking in hushed tones with Luke and Alex. Nico followed my eyes, and his became concerned. "Shadow travel to camp," I ordered him tersely.  
"What?" he demanded, red-faced. "That's my sister, Percy! You can't expect me to..."  
"That's exactly what I expect you to do." I told him shortly. Nico looked taken aback, and I wrestled back my boiling emotions. I took a deep breath and sighed. "Look, your sister has been allegedly dead for what, three, almost four years at this point? Considering she's already outdated from her time in the Lotus Casino, it might come as a shocker to her. And the fact you're a full-fledged son of Hades, complete with _summoning the dead_, might not settle too well with your older sister."  
Nico seemed to consider this. He tilted his head to the side, but he still looked unconvinced. "I summoned Bianca. She knows about Hades being our dad." I thought about that quickly.  
In reality, I wasn't sure if Nico had actually talked to his sister's ghost back then, when he called upon her spirit from the Underworld-once to bring her back, and once to let her talk to me. I remembered how devastated he had been when he learned that Bianca did not want to be brought back. Now I knew why.  
Nico hadn't spoken with Bianca. He'd spoken with a shadow, not even a ghost, something wearing Bianca's face and speaking with her voice. But it was never Bianca. The gods-his father, Hera, Zeus, someone-must have realized what he was doing and deliberately fooled him so that he didn't unearth the Ancient Fear. The Torturer's Greek name; **Η αρχαία φόβο**, wasn't exactly easily pronounceable, so we referred to him either as the Ancient Fear, or his more common nickname, The Torturer. We as in the gods and I. I hadn't known until now that there were others.  
"Look, Nico, Bianca might not remember. If she came back from the dead, that's pretty big. There's no guarantee she can remember any of it. Period." Nico's face darkened.  
"Meaning she might not remember me," he muttered dejectedly.  
"What? No. I mean, possibly, but I doubt it. You're her little brother. I'm sure she at least remembers you." I doubted my reassurances registered with Nico. He was staring at his girlfriend and his sister. I didn't know if he'd even registered Luke yet. The wistfulness in his eyes frightened me. It reminded me too much of the looks on the faces of those people the Torturer had already broken, like the little piece of them that was still sane was clinging to one good memory, but even that was slipping away. It reminded me of how close I had come to looking that way forever.  
I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he didn't even acknowledge me. "I'll tell her. Everything. But you've got to give me time. Go to camp. Make sure Chiron doesn't shot Luke on sight. Warn them." Nico studied the son of Hermes with a cautious gaze. I pursed my lips, waiting. Bianca was heading over. Any minute now it would be too late.  
"What if Luke needs to be shot on sight?" Nico asked. I let out a sigh of relief. That meant he was going to listen to me. Now if only I could get rid of Annabeth...  
"Then I'll kill him before we get there. I won't let Annabeth's feelings get in the way this time." Nico finally nodded, and faded away into the shadows as they stretched toward him.  
Annabeth crawled out from under the table. I saw jeans underneath her dress. At least she hadn't been a complete idiot on this one. "Did Nico just leave?" she asked.  
"Yes," I answered. Annabeth stared at me in shock. Then she looked back to Luke, who was trailing behind the two gossiping girls. "And that's really Luke." She stared at me. I realized how that must have sounded. Even I heard the edge to my voice. And I realized I was a little jealous. Annabeth had had a thing for Luke back when she was younger, and those feelings got us in a lot of trouble. I still resented him a little for what he inspired out of Annabeth. He had betrayed Olympus and joined the Titan King, and all I did was disappear for a couple weeks. He's still the hero, yet I'm a selfish unreasonable bastard. It stung. A lot.  
Annabeth stood and walked over to Luke. He stopped dead, and I rose to my feet. I dusted off my pants, and had to look down for a few moments to do it. When I looked back up, I saw Annabeth brandishing her knife in Luke's face.  
"I hate you!" she screamed. And then slashed.

* * *

I had already known what would happen when I attacked Luke Castellan. Percy told me during the Titan War that both him and Luke had bathed in the River Styx and become invincible, just like the ancient Greek war hero, Achilles. I remembered how Luke had been forced to take his own life, because he was the only one who knew his weak spot. Just underneath his left arm. I had witnessed his death, almost two years ago now, and I still had nightmares about it.  
I was expecting it to have no effect, but standing in a non-war zone, relatively safe, gave me the closure to vent some of the resentment I had maintained this whole time. I had expected Luke to defend himself. I had expected Alex and the other girl, who Nico and Percy clearly knew but weren't telling, to jump to his aid. I had even prepared for the improbability that he was a hallucination and would disperse into mist the minute my knife touched him.  
What I hadn't prepared for was his agonized scream as the knife sunk into his flesh.  
Percy materialized next to me and yanked the knife from my grasp. He was panting. When I looked back at him, he was studying Luke carefully, like he was trying to interrogate him wordlessly. He gripped Luke's shoulder so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Prison. Hell. Torture." Those words seemed a little redundant to me, and completely meaningless, but Luke's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, but Percy cursed vehemently in Ancient Greek and held up his hand. The traitor's mouth closed immediately.  
"Er, Luke, do you, uh, know these two?" Alex asked innocently.  
"We fought each other during the Titan War." Percy shoved past all three of us and gestured that we should follow. I was stunned. It was completely unlike Percy to sound so confident and so...together, especially at times where strange things were happening. He usually turned to me looking for answers, and I'd give him them. Or he'd pretend to know what he was saying and stumble over his words like an idiot. Never, not once, had he said something definitive in a time of stress. That was my job.  
I didn't like him taking my job.  
Luke was the first to recover. He turned to the girl. "It's him, Bianca." he told her. I recognized the name. I think Nico had mentioned it. Then it dawned on me. Bianca was the name of his sister.  
"You're Nico's sister?" I asked, flabbergasted. The girl turned to me in alarm, and Luke grabbed her arm and pulled her along before she could answer.  
Percy was jogging back the way we came. Riptide was clutched in his hand. He looked around nervously, like he was waiting for something to pop out and attack him. I'd never seen Percy so uptight. He was usually making jokes to relieve the tension, not running stiff as a board and completely silent. Something was horribly wrong.  
Alex jogged to keep up with Percy, and asked him a question I couldn't hear. He said something brief back, and she slowed to a stop, looking crushed. "What's wrong?" I asked her  
"Nico's went on ahead already. He didn't even say goodbye." she looked pretty hurt. I realized the poor girl had to be going through hell, and an untrustworthy boyfriend was the last thing she needed.  
She walked on ahead dejectedly. I stared at Percy. I knew the feeling.  
When we finally got to the Camry, Percy immediately got in. He said nothing as he pulled out his keys, turned on the ignition, and let the car idle while the rest of us got in. The atmosphere in that car was nearly unlivable. Not that that would bother the two corpses in the back seat. Alex was squeezed in between Luke and Bianca. I still couldn't believe Luke was alive. Bianca, well, I'd never really met her. It had been in the middle of a battle the first time I'd seen her, and she died before I could properly introduce myself. I had, however, seen her ghost. It surprised me to see how little she seemed to know. I assumed being dead would enlighten her a little bit, especially seeming she was in her father's domain.  
"So, er, Bianca," I said. I deliberately ignored Luke. "Nico's not much of a talker. What's it like being a daughter of Hades?"  
The car swerved.  
"Son of a bitch!" I screamed at Percy. "Who gave you a license?" Percy's eyes were wide. He stared at me in horror, and Luke cursed in English.  
"Shit," he muttered.  
I turned and saw that Bianca looked like she'd been hit. "Sorry," she said. "What did you say?" She looked like she was in shock.  
"Annabeth Chase, shut up." Percy said shortly. I glowered at him.  
"Who gave you permission to order me around, Jackson?" I demanded. Percy kept his eyes on the road. He didn't look at me.  
"It's Nico's job to tell her, not yours." he told me.  
"Nico's job to tell her what? She already knows. You were there, Jackson. Bianca was even the one who told Nico his fatal flaw." Percy winced.  
"His what?" she asked.  
"Shut up," Percy repeated.  
"Make me." I spat back at him.  
"What did you call me before?" Bianca asked. I turned to her and realized that she didn't know.  
"You don't remember?" Bianca let out a terse laugh.  
"Oh, I remember. I wish I didn't, but I do." Luke looked out the window, and Alex didn't seem to be paying any attention. "Luke and Percy could tell you the..." The car swerved a second time. I realized that was Percy's way of getting people to stop talking. It works.  
"How about we play a little game, shall we? It's called shut up until we get to camp." I was alarmed at his frankness. Percy wasn't acting at all like himself. I was actually worried.  
"What about Luke and Percy?" I said, ignoring the dark look Percy gave me.  
"You mean Percy didn't tell you?" Bianca asked, clearly surprised.  
"Tell me what, exactly." The car came to a stop. He really didn't want us talking about this.  
"Look, can we knock off the chitchat? You guys can gossip all you want once we get back to camp. Until then, shut the hell up!" Percy's green eyes flashed murderously, and I recoiled. I choked back a startled yelp when I saw his face, shadowed heavily by the night, but illuminated just enough to show true contempt flickering across it. At first, it had been his strange, uncharacteristic attitude, but now it started to show differently. Something was beyond wrong with Percy. Something was going wrong with Percy.  
Luke suddenly leaned forward and said something to Percy. Immediately, the son of Poseidon's expression softened and he sighed. He looked back to the road, and I saw something I didn't recognize in his eyes. I couldn't even name the emotion, except for the fact that I saw pain. A lot of pain.  
I instantly felt a surge of protectiveness. Exes or not, Percy and I used to be friends. We were still friends, even if we didn't always want to admit it. To see him like this, like he was fighting something painful, I wanted nothing more than to tear that thing apart. Whatever was doing it was going to pay, severely.  
"Thanks," Percy muttered, almost too low for me to hear. It was difficult to believe he had just thanked his old rival, but he had. Then he turned the key again, and we were speeding down the highway once again.  
The rest of that night was perfectly silent.

**Now, if I might be inclined to guess, the lot of you might be more than a little confused over this whole mess. I can't guarantee everything is going to be cleared up right away. Or even in this story. But I'm going to try. There's going to be a lot of foreshadowing and inference over on your ends. **

**Right now, this doesn't seem like an M story, save for the cursing. But believe me, it is not for the faint of heart. I don't think I'm going to be nice in this thing and save your pretty little eyes. So you have been warned.**

**And now, because I'm me and I have to do this... OH LORD, LUKE AND BIANCA ARE ALIVE! AND NICO IS A COWARDLY JERK BECAUSE HE RAN OFF AND DIDN'T GREET HIS SISTER. Okay, so maybe Percy showed him the door (with a push) but still! Why am I ranting about my own story, you ask? Probably because I'm more than a little unstable. Why else would I be able to write such a disturbing story? **

**Okay, so I don't think I'm putting an author's word at the end of the next one. **

**Review!**


	3. Nightmares

**Chapter Two**  
**Nightmares**

As I pulled off the road, into pretty desolate looking land, the others said nothing. Perhaps my earlier outburst had made its impact. It made me feel vulnerable and stupid to think that I'd been so easily affected by the Torturer and his psychological bullshit.  
There'd been times before when my anger would flare suddenly, and seemingly without provocation, but there was a reason. If anyone looked close enough, they might figure out that my mood changes and personality switches would line up just about right to correlate with my disappearance a year ago. I was grateful no one had.  
I opened the driver's door solemnly and walked to the back. The trunk clicked open. I pulled out some food, ambrosia, and blankets. I tossed them at the others, who caught them despite the lack of warning. They spread their blankets over the ground and shared some potato chips. Luke and Bianca were talking in hushed tones. Annabeth was telling Alex a couple things, and miming with her knife, movements Alex would mimic. I guessed my ex was teaching the trade.  
I walked from the group and propped myself up on the hood of my car, where the others couldn't see the tears spilling down my face.  
_The chains ate at my wrists mercilessly, and I could feel my blood running down my arms. I fought vainly against my bonds, but was once again forced to sag helplessly against the wall. I tried to ignore the images that flashed across my mind._  
_"They hate you."_ _a voice told me. I felt tears well in the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "You're better off down here with me." Then a scream was torn from my lips as the knife dug into my skin. I stopped trying to decipher the images he branded me with. They were too horrible._  
_"She hates you." Blood-curdling screams echoed through the prison as several others let loose with their pain. "Stay with me. Don't fight, and you can forget about all of them." I shook my head, but the motion was weak, almost reflexive. I was ready to give up. I wanted to give up. I could only take so much._  
_Then a voice spoke in my mind, _Annabeth_. The name inspired a resolve inside me that I had long thought gone. I straightened, and suddenly could no longer feel the bite of the knife into my flesh. For the first time since my death, I grinned, and another scream tore from my lips, but this time it wasn't out of pain. The sea roared to life inside me, and suddenly the spirit of the entire ocean flooded me, and my vision turned to underwater._  
_I was being lifted, waves crashing, and over and over, I chanted her name. I landed in a crouch on the ground. A monster charged me, but fueled by the inexhaustible resource of the ocean, it traveled slowly. I ducked and weaved, and the monster barreled past straight into another cell. Blonde hair caught my peripheral as I turned, hoping I'd liberated someone. Yet another monster came toward me, and I lifted keys from its pocket with ease as it bounded into its buddy, who had since recovered. I hastily crammed one into the lock of another cell and turned it, opening it and not even hesitating to see who was or was not inside. I ran for freedom, straight for opening doors, revealing sunlight and radiance that I had forgotten._  
_Annabeth. _  
"Hey," a voice shocked me from my melancholy thoughts.  
I turned and saw Luke leaning against the passenger side, watching me carefully. I still found it difficult to believe he was now an ally, but I forced myself to trust him. It was the only way this strange phenomenon could be explained. Bianca was even harder. I couldn't help but feel sorry for Nico. Despite his ability to thoroughly annoy me, I'd kind of adopted him as a little brother, not that I'd ever tell him that. He'd skewer me with his sword. Having to tell your sister, who abandoned you, went on a quest, and then died, that your father was the lord of the Underworld had to be difficult. But not as difficult as the constant weight of dealing with a lie you couldn't ever share. Maybe Luke was good for one thing.  
"You don't usually cry." he observed. I chuckled, but it was strained. His raised eyebrows told me he knew it. "You don't have to pretend around me and Bianca. I understand you not wanting to broadcast it, but why not tell Annabeth?" I looked away.  
"Don't want to scare her," I decided. It was true, but I wasn't sure what the whole truth was, so I stuck to that.  
"Even when she dumped you for standing her up?" I shot Luke a warning glare, but he didn't look worried. Luke didn't intimidate easily.  
"Yeah," I said. "Even then."  
"I think I know what your problem is, Percy." I growled, but Luke ignored it. "You're so concentrated on everyone else's happiness that you completely discount your own. It's a common flaw among natural born heroes. It tends to stop them from being heroes pretty fast, because after caring for everyone else, they start to feel cheated and pay attention to only themselves. They become loners, and the next thing you know, they're leading the Titan army to war."  
I started. I hadn't even realized Luke was talking about himself until he'd said that. "You were like that? Seriously?" Luke nodded.  
"It's nothing to be proud of. I went down a dark road because I felt like I'd been betrayed. And honestly, if you ever did that, I don't think we'd be able to stop you." I stiffened and went defensive.  
"I would never betray camp, or Annabeth." I told him with complete conviction. I meant every word.  
"Yeah, I said the same thing, before I got sent after the Apple of Hesperides and turned cold and bitter. I had a lot of reasons to be angry, Percy. Some of the things I did were justified, but that fundamental heroic flaw nearly destroyed the world."  
Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. "What's your fatal flaw, Luke?" The son of Hermes thought about that.  
"Hmm...one of two that I can think of. Either I anger too easily, or I get too narrow-minded in my thinking. To accomplish one thing, I will sacrifice everything else. It's not exactly a nice, quiet fatal flaw, now is it?"  
I tried not to meet his eyes. That last one sounded dangerously close to _my_ fatal flaw. Athena had told me it three years ago, "To save a friend, you would sacrifice the world." It was true, of course. But it wasn't just friends I was that way with. I could do that with anything.  
But I wasn't Luke.  
Or was I?  
"Percy," Luke said. I felt a hand grip my shoulder and turned. "I've stood where you're standing. It took a lot less to throw me over the edge. I'm worried."  
And he was. I could hear it in his voice, and that someone would be worried that I could betray my friends; that I could turn against everyone I loved; it scared me. What scared me even worse was the possibility he was right. What if it wasn't the Torturer causing these flares in anger, or the sudden outbursts of rage? What if I was doing it all, and just blaming it on other things, on other people, just like Luke had done? For one, terrifying moment, I saw myself with golden eyes, wielding a scythe and sitting on a throne like some evil, powerful king. I imagined Luke and my positions reversed a year ago, when I furiously battled Kronos on Mount Olympus, only instead of Percy Jackson being the gods defender, it was Luke. And I was the one who shoved Annabeth aside, who broke her arm, who betrayed her.  
"Percy," a voice called from a ways off. "Percy!" I was shaken from my thoughts suddenly, and looked up to see Annabeth staring at me with those intelligent gray eyes. "Percy, we have to get back on the road, and you said you'd prefer to drive." I realized I was laying down. I must've crashed on the hood, but then I looked up at Luke, who didn't meet my eyes. I realized I'd blacked out.  
Trying to hide my embarrassment, I scrambled to my feet and got in the car. That time, everyone was rather talkative, except me. All I did was nod and grunt on the rest of the road trip across the remainder of New England. I thought I caught Annabeth looking at me in concern a couple of times, but when I looked back, she was always rambling with Bianca or Alex or both.  
I pulled into my mom's driveway, dead of night, and killed the engine. "This isn't Camp Half-Blood, is it?" Alex asked nervously. Everyone except me laughed. I tried to chuckle a little late, so the anxiety was easily heard. I cleared my throat, trying to mask it, but didn't succeed.  
"Nah," Annabeth said. "It's his mom's place. Mrs. Jackson Blofis." I just nodded and got out. "So you're going to tell her it was a mission success?" I shook my head.  
"She'll know when she sees the car in the morning. I'm taking another mode of transportation from here on out." I whistled, and a black dot descended immediately from the sky.  
Blackjack, a sleek, verbose Pegasus landed in front of me, quickly followed by several other Pegasi. Annabeth looked taken aback, but shrugged and mounted the Pegasus named Guido. He unfurled his wings and immediately took off. I watched Annabeth as she disappeared into the sky, her blonde hair flying, and stopped myself from smirking. I turned to the others, and motioned that they should do the same.  
"I don't see why we couldn't have done this from the beginning," Alex grumbled angrily and she fought to get on her Pegasus. I helped her up. Luke moved for Blackjack, but I held out my hand.  
"Hold it, Luke. You're riding on Porkpie with Alex." Luke looked indignant.  
"What? Are you serious? That Pegasus hates me! And Alex has never been a big fan, either."  
"It's true," she supplied bitterly. "I only put up with him because of Bianca." Bianca didn't seem to know whether to thank her or stick up for her friend.  
I grabbed Luke's arm and whispered into his ear. "The Pegasi don't like Hades' children. They'll only let her ride if she's with me." He looked back at Bianca and sighed,  
"Just asking, but how come Luke and I can't take the same Pegasus and you and Alex ride together. I need to..." Before Alex could argue in Bianca's favor, and I could be overruled, I thought at Porkpie sharply, _Fly_ and he took off.  
"Sorry, Bianca. Porkpie's never been real patient." I hopped onto Blackjack and reached for Bianca's hand. She looked reluctant.  
"I don't like horses. Especially not flying horses. It's like a combination of the two things I hate the most. Airplanes don't get along with me, and horses usually run away."  
"Blackjack's not a normal horse." I told her.  
_Yes, I am._  
_Be quiet._  
She still didn't look happy, but she took my hand and I pulled her up. With that, we took to the air, and Bianca shut her eyes tightly. Riding on Pegasi was pretty freeing for me, so it gave me time to not think. It was relieving.

My Pegasus landed smoothly, trotting to a slow stop in the middle of the camp. When the campers saw me coming, they started clapping and hooting. I mocked a bow as I hit the ground. I looked up and saw the other two horses coming into view, Percy's in the rear. I sent Guido galloping back to the stables, making room for the others to land. I backed up with the gathering crowd, who looked up in expectation.  
Luke and Alex were the first to land. Nico shoved out of the crowd and embraced his girlfriend, shocking her and sending her stumbling into Porkpie. Then he kissed her, and catcalls rang out from the less mature campers. Alex returned the favor, and he swung her around. My heart stung when I remembered a similar reunion with Percy, just after he returned to camp. The day I broke up with him.  
Then Blackjack landed, Bianca in the back. Percy spotted his cousin and a ghost of a smile flickered across his face, but when he met my eyes, the smile disappeared. I felt a twinge of guilt. No, I shouldn't. He's the one that disappeared. He deserved what he got.  
Bianca collapsed onto the ground, and Nico pried himself from Alex to rush to her side. Alex was right behind him. "She's alright," Percy assured them. "Just a little woozy, is all."  
Nico helped his sister to her feet, and she held her head dazedly. "Thanks, Lu..." Then her eyes widened. She hugged Nico tight. "I was worried you were dead, or worse! I'm so sorry about everything. I quit the Hunt. Artemis let me go. I'm not leaving, not ever again. I'm so sorry."  
"Air," Nico gasped out with difficulty, and she let him go.  
Sister and brother stared at each other, when the campers finally recognized Luke. There was the unmistakable sound of bows being drawn, and suddenly a hundred arrows were aimed at the ex-traitor's head. He threw up his hands quickly, and both Percy and Bianca stood in front of him protectively. Alex was right behind them. I was shocked.  
"Percy, get out of the way! That's Castellan!" One of the Apollo kids cried. Percy didn't budge.  
"Yeah, I know, and unless you lower your weapons, you will discover how long you really can breathe underwater." The bows were immediately lowered.  
Luke looked relieved, and I seriously felt tempted to stab him just for looking glib. Beads of sweat were running down his face.  
"Nico," Bianca started in a hushed whisper. "You're not a son of Hades, are you?" There was a collective silence.  
Nico didn't seem to know how to respond. He swallowed like he needed to force an entire mouse down his esophagus. He seemed to be wrestling with some indecision, and then he bowed his head in defeat, and Percy and Luke turned away.  
"Yes."  
"NO!"

Time moved on fairly uneventfully after that. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Luke started to re-assimilate himself into Camp Half-Blood, and people were starting to loosen up around him. He was no longer under twenty-four hour surveillance.  
Nico and Bianca slept in the same cabin. They sat at the same dinner table. They did mostly the same activities, but they were anything but brother and sister. I had no idea how similar they used to be, but now they were polar opposites. Bianca seemed determined to ignore her lineage, and Nico was stubbornly reluctant to talk to her. I could hardly get the two of them to acknowledge each other's presence, let alone act like family.  
Then there was Percy. He started to spend less and less time with people. He was closing himself off. After our quest, I'd started trying to bridge the gap between us, maybe even find out what had happened a year ago when he vanished, but every time I got near him, he would walk away. He confined himself to his cabin, or stayed away from everyone by the beach. He rarely came to dinner. I didn't know if he was even eating, but judging by his abrupt loss of weight, I doubted it. He practiced late at night with his sword, and when I took one of my forbidden walks after curfew, which I typically did, I could hear his sobs from the arena. Percy was coming unraveled. He looked like he hadn't bathed since he got back, and he had hardly spoken to anyone. He was scaring me.  
Moreover, he seemed obsessed with something. One time, when I went looking for him, I found an open book lying on his bed. Despite the fact it was written in Ancient Greek, it unnerved me. Percy was dyslexic. He hated reading. There were symbols written on the margins, but I didn't recognize the language. It looked older even than Ancient Greek. Far more ancient and crude. And far more evil.  
His eyes had bags from lack of sleep. When he did attend dinner, he didn't touch his food. He started drinking something from a canteen, and that only raised more questions in my mind. We were almost to the Fourth of July, and I planned to ask Percy to the Fireworks show, if for nothing else than to dig into that growing mystery of his head.  
One day, I accidentally bumped into the distant son of Poseidon while he was muttering unintelligible things under his breath. He looked up in alarm and jumped, reaching for his pocket, and within it his lethal three foot pen-sword Riptide, when he finally saw me and lowered his guard. Not entirely, but he wasn't daring me to a duel, which I took as a good sign. What wasn't a good sign, however, was the fact he was acting so much like a cornered wolf. "What's with you, Jackson?" I demanded, taking my usual gruff approach. Frankly, I was tired of treating him so badly, but a girl does have to have some attitude, now doesn't she?  
"Nothing you need to know about, Chase." He tried to shove past me, but I grabbed his arm. "Let me go," he growled dangerously, and I saw a glint in his eye I didn't recognize. Contempt.  
My heart jumped up and lodged in my throat. If Percy ever decided I was a threat and thought it best to take me out, I could have a serious issue. I liked to kid myself that I was a superior fighter than Percy, and that used to be true, but not anymore. Percy was the undefeated champion at camp, although his weapon of choice has always been the sword. Strangely, though, lately he'd been puzzling over the knife. I'd offered to help one time, but he just snapped at me and continued practicing his attacks and defenses. He was surprisingly good at it for someone found it so complicated.  
I watched him carefully, waiting for the glint again, but it was gone. Percy plastered an obviously fake smile onto his smile and showed his teeth. Then he winced like it hurt him. "Relax, Annabeth. I'm just playing with you. Now let me go." The smile was still there, but it was being accented by his tensing arm, and I knew if I didn't release him I'd regret it. So I let him go and watched him jog off toward the Sound, looking forlorn and sullen, like he was waiting for the worst thing possible to happen, and afraid of when it would.


	4. Mistakes and Broken Promises

**Chapter Three**  
**Mistakes and Broken Promises**

After my run-in with Annabeth, I didn't want anymore social interaction. So I retreated to my usual hiding spot; a rock by the water, deep enough in the woods that only the nastiest of monsters dared venture. I'd seen a few, but none of them had bothered me. It made me feel dirty to think that I scared those things, not because of who I was, but what I'd become.  
There was no denying that I'd changed. I saw it in the mirror every day I woke up, which only made waking up more miserable for me. One night, I'd actually contemplated a knife I'd taken from the armory so long, that dinner finished, the campfire songs drew to a close, and everyone was heading in. I never followed through, of course, but that doesn't change the intent. And if Annabeth hadn't come in just then, sticking her nose in again, I would've plunged the knife deep into my chest.  
I looked down at the surface of the water. It was deceivingly calm, but every now and again a wave would crash and roar. It reminded me a little of myself. I remembered how difficult it had been to smile back there, how much strain it put on my face, like every bone in me resented that grin, didn't want anything to do with it. Smiling was as hard as moving at normal speed in one of Kronos' time wraps. Not impossible, but very, very close.  
The ripples distorted my face, making me look older and a lot angrier. I sighed and sat back, resting my palms on the ground. I wasn't sure if if was the Sound distorting my features, or if I actually looked like that. The scary part was, it was probably the later.  
"Percy?" said a questioning voice from behind me. I jumped up and reached for Riptide, but then I saw the curly brown hair of my satyr friend, Grover. "What are you doing this deep in the woods? That's dangerous, you know."  
"Says the guy standing five feet from me. Hello, G-man." Grover smiled, but it was faint. I raised an eyebrow. Just because I was going through hell doesn't mean I'm going to ignore my friends, however few there were. "What's wrong?  
"The wild is in bad shape, Percy. I mean, everyone's working really hard, but it's like the humans are determined to undermine everything we do. I'm starting to hate gasoline especially." He glowered at me, and I held up my hands in mock surrender.  
"Hey, I drive a hybrid." That was a lie, but you try telling that to the Lord of the Wild. The guy resented humans and really thought we needed to go back to the stone age. I got that the world was polluted bad, heck, I was the son of the sea god, I could feel the dumps in the water. It had been really bad during a oil spill in the gulf. But still, I can only concede so many times before it gets impossible.  
"But that's not why I'm here." He said suddenly, shocking me from my thoughts. "Annabeth asked me to find you."  
I clenched my fist as an unexpected wave of anger wash over me. I was getting those more and more often. "She _what_? First she dumps me, then she plays concerned friend? Where does she get off doing that?" My tone was very strained and controlled. I bit back a scream of frustration, mostly because Grover was stepping back nervously.  
"She's not the only one, Percy. Everybody's worried. They're saying you aren't acting normally, whatever that means. All I came here to do is see for myself, and maybe help out a bit." He furrowed his brow in determination, and I realized he was trying to read my emotions.  
"Hey!" I objected, covering my head like that would protect my feelings. "Cut that out!" But Grover wasn't listening. He stumbled like he was exhausted, and I realized he'd expended energy trying to sort through my emotions.  
Grover swallowed and cringed when I reached to help him. "Get away from me, you...you sadistic freak!" He was breathing heavily, and I didn't know what he was talking about. "I thought I knew you, but you're...you...how..." He shook his head and scampered away clumsily, leaving me feeling worse than before.  
I hated to admit it, but I knew who he was calling sadistic, even if he didn't. My mind was quite literally split, partly Torturer, mostly me. The Torturer had been dropping little hellos in my mind lately, and seeming things were off, I couldn't call up my "getting out of town with friends card" like I usually did. Aphrodite, the goddess who had delivered the antidote, had assured me it was modified so that if I took it steadily throughout the day until the irregular symptoms ceased, it would keep the poison at bay. I had been hesitant about drinking it at first, thinking it might be one of Aphrodite's tricks, but she had been too solemn when she handed it to me for her to be playing games. Nonetheless, I was tentative when drinking it. I substituted it for meals, just like she'd instructed, but most of my efforts were in vain. The symptoms weren't easing, and I was starting to get afraid.  
Not to mention the dreams. Lately, I'd been avoiding sleep, mostly because every time I closed my eyes I saw the Torturer getting closer and closer to freedom. If he ever escaped into the mortal world...No, I'm not even going to think about that.  
"I'm afraid you have no choice." A voice echoed from behind me. I started, and whirled around, Riptide growing to its full length in the palm of my hand. I was surprised to see Hera, Queen of the Gods and my least favorite goddess, studying me with prudish amusement. "Even if you were to attack me, Jackson, do you truly believe it would do any good?" I thought about that for a moment, and then shrugged.  
"Nah, but it would make me feel better." I decided, Riptide shrinking back into a pen before I tucked it safely in my pocket. I crossed my arms over my chest, just to make my displeasure about Hera's visit clear. "Now then, Hera, what reason does Zeus' wife have to drop by at Camp Half-Blood? The last time you graced us with your presence, you cursed Annabeth." A smile flickered across the Queen's beautiful features before she replied.  
"Yes, well, I have agreed not to hold on to old grudges, Jackson. You would do well to follow my example." I rolled my eyes and sat down on a nearby tree stump. "As for the motivation for my visit, it is this: the Torturer is attempting escape again, and it is the fear of Olympus that this time he may succeed." My head shot up like someone had jerked it.  
"What?" I gasped out, almost too shocked to speak. "But...but he's tried before, and he...he never..." I looked away as my old fears were suddenly realized. "What's different?"  
"He has an anchor." Hera informed me dryly, and at first I didn't understand what she meant, but then the Torturer's words echoed through my mind: _One day very soon, the world above will feel my wrath, and you will bring about its end! _  
"No," I breathed. "It's not possible! I never, I didn't..." But I clearly had. I had made a horrible mistake when I escaped from Tartarus. I gave the worst creature to ever have been created a clear shot to the mortal world. I had become what I most hated. I buried my face in my hands, and felt involuntary sobs escaped me. There was a blood-curdling scream that suddenly echoed through the forest, and I realized it was mine.  
"Tonight, Jackson, at the Fourth of July celebration, you will have to leave Camp Half-Blood behind. I'm afraid it's unlikely you will ever be able to return." I looked up at the goddess with a tear streaked face. I no longer cared about appearing strong or noble. Right now was my time to grieve, because I knew there would not be another chance after I left the sanctuary of the woods, I would not be able to tell anyone what I was doing. They would stop me.  
Because what I was doing would stop the Torturer and end my suffering in one fell swoop.  
"Olympus is depending on you, Jackson. You are the only one who can do it." Then something occurred to me, before I could accept.  
"What about Luke and Bianca? They're like me." Hera shook her head.  
"They fled from Tartarus through another exit. You used the main entrance. Because of it, the Torturer has a firmer grasp on you. Luke and Bianca can give him strength once he escapes, but they are not enough of a hold for him to free himself using. You can rest assured this is the truth, Jackson. I swear it upon the River Styx." The answering rolling thunder closed my fate.  
I met Hera's eyes with my own cold green. She recoiled, and I stood. I clenched my fists, and a five foot wave roared beside me, arching over the trees. A lightning strike landed on top of it, and electricity arched along the waves. I let the water fall where it rose, and the water dosed me from head to foot. I closed my eyes and basked in the rush it gave me. My resolve renewed, I faced Hera.  
"The Torturer will not see daylight, nor will he have his anchor more a month longer. This ends tonight."

Three hours later, I looked up at the Fireworks show with sorrowful eyes. Luke sat down beside me. "What's wrong, Percy?" I bowed my head and choked back a tear.  
I briefly considered lying to him, just to ease his fears, but then it occurred to me that he'd recognize the lie. He'd probably used it a couple times himself. I looked back to the fireworks and said quietly, just loud enough that Luke could hear, "I'm leaving camp tonight."  
"What?" he laughed. He obviously thought I was kidding.  
"The Torturer is almost free. I have to stop him." Luke shook his head.  
"Let Bianca and I come. We can help." I laughed weakly.  
"No, you actually can't. I'm the reason he's almost out." I looked up at Luke's blue eyes, and saw them filled with shock and horror. "You and Bianca were smarter than me. I escaped through the main entrance, and because of it the Torturer can use me as an anchor. You and Bianca left through a different exit. It turns out you were right, Luke. I have become my own worst enemy."  
"No." he said. I nodded solemnly. "When should I tell the others?" I thought about it.  
"You can tell Bianca tonight, but make sure it's everything. I can't afford her dragging attention to my absence. The rest of Camp can find out in two weeks. I probably won't ever come back."  
"What will you do?" Luke asked.  
"Hope he doesn't drag me back in. Otherwise, time will tell. I can't keep living. He'll get out if I do."  
"You'll kill yourself." he predicted.  
"I'll try not to, but if there's no other choice, then yes. I don't have the Curse of Achilles to get in the way anymore." Luke just nodded. He held out his hand, and his eyes brimmed with tears. I felt myself choke up, and I let the tear fall. "It was a pleasure knowing the real you, Luke. Don't betray camp again, please." He laughed morbidly, and I stood.  
"Goodbye, Percy." he said, and I shouldered a small pack of Greek fire I had stolen from Hephaestus. I reached into my pocket and brought out Riptide.  
"If camp doesn't believe you, show them this. When another child of Poseidon shows up, I want you to give them that. It belonged to a son of Poseidon. It should belong to another one." Luke nodded, but said nothing. I turned and walked away from camp like a ghost.  
I didn't look back until I reached Thalia's tree. I patted Peleus on the head, and he purred. I probably should've kept going, but I turned and waved my hand in farewell to Camp Half-Blood and to my life.  
I saw Luke sharing what I told him with Bianca, and she took the news in stride. She looked up at me and nodded. I returned it. Then she acted like nothing had happened. Even from this far away, I could've sworn I saw tears in her eyes.  
The last image I had of Camp Half-Blood were the cheers of campers as Hercules slew the Nemean Lion.  
"I can die for you." I muttered, and walked down the hill for the last time.

I was laughing at a joke Malcolm just told me, resting my architecture book in my lap. It was actually not that funny (I much preferred the jokes Percy used, at least when he wasn't so solemn) but Malcolm had just gone through a rough breakup and I felt obligated as his sister to help him out a little. I knew what it felt like to lose someone you care about because of some misunderstanding.  
I put down my book next to me on the steps and forced a smile. Malcolm's buzzed blonde hair made him look bald, and it was not a good look for him. Everyone had practically screamed at him not to touch the razor, but he hadn't listened. He claimed the longer hair was annoying and got in his way while he was fighting. Eventually we had to let him make the mistake. He came out of the bathroom sulking and miserable. "Mom wouldn't be pleased," he mumbled dryly and buried his head under a pillow.  
Ironically, that was the day Alyssa from Apollo noticed him. He'd been crushing on her for months before then, and when I pointed out she'd been flirting with him while he was practicing his archery, he immediately leapt into action and asked her out. Apparently, the Fireworks celebration had been her time to let him know she had moved on. Little bitch.  
"So..." Malcolm said awkwardly. "You've been talking to Percy more." I glowered at him. I didn't appreciate his attention to my love life, but Malcolm was a year older than me and therefore felt it was his sworn duty to spy relentlessly whenever it came to dating. He quite literally interrogated Percy when we started dating. I hadn't spoken with him for weeks after that. I started again once we broke up.  
"Malcolm..." I warned, twisting to pick up my book again, but Malcolm reached across me and slammed his hand down it.  
"Don't, Annabeth," he said, for the first time sounding like a big brother. "You're in love with him and you know it. You have to talk to him. You'll turn eighteen in three weeks, for Athena's sake! You deserve to have a life with someone who will love you."  
I slapped Malcolm's hand away and pulled my book up to my face. "What makes you think he'll love me?" I retorted stuffily, deliberating assuming the intellectual snob act to get Malcolm to leave me alone. Sadly, it didn't work.  
My brother curled his fingers over the top of my book and pushed it back down to my lap, focusing on me with calculating eyes. "Because he always has."  
I was shocked, and Malcolm didn't give me time to prepare a snarky response. He stood up and jogged off toward the basketball field, eventually being swallowed by the throng of commuting demigods bouncing from activity to activity. Chiron had announced that morning at breakfast that it would be free reign today, until Capture the Flag. I was anxiously awaited the rematch between Ares and Athena. It was going to be so much fun tonight.  
Deciding I had reflecting enough on The Ancient Techniques of the Structurally-Advanced Roman Empire, I jogged up the steps into my cabin, and reverently slid my book back into its place on the shelf. "Hello, Emily," I greeted easily, my younger, overzealous sister waving at me. She was the only child of Athena with red hair; a vibrant contrast to the stereotypical blonde of the cabin. There were a few dark haired siblings, but Emily was it as far as redheads went. She was usually embarrassed about it, but I had always been a little jealous of her curly locks. They were gorgeous.  
I moved over to my desk, where my things were stacked neatly on account of Cabin check. I fixed everything up that morning and it hadn't been touched since out of my Cabin's desire to avoid being shish-kobobbed. I whipped out a pen and old, half-drawn blueprint for Olympus and began sketching furiously, trying to take my mind off the uncharacteristic Percy Jackson.  
Percy's feelings for me were inconsequential. Despite Malcolm's assurance that he had loved me and still did, that did not change my primary indifference toward him. After our relationship ended due to _his_ unexplained disappearance, I ceased having any romantic feelings toward him. Therefore...  
Oh, who was I kidding? I figured out I was in love with the boy while I was laboring under the sky at fourteen and nothing that had happened since had done anything to change that. My anger and indifference toward him had been a defensive reflex rather than any real expression of how I had moved on. The fact that an endless stream of potential dates had been led right on past me did enough to prove that. Percy had been the knight in shining armor little girls dream about after their father reads them Sleeping Beauty as a bedtime story for me, and it ripped my heart out the day I told him I couldn't date him anymore. But his reaction when I gave him the ultimatum, "If you tell me where you went, I might reconsider. But otherwise, this is over." His deer-in-the-headlights look had given me everything I needed.  
"I'm sorry, Annabeth. But I can't." And that was that.  
I wish I could say I took the breakup well. But in reality, I wanted Percy to suffer. I had somehow gotten it into my head that he could have changed it all. That his disappearance was him cheating on me or going behind my back on something. And the very concept made me feel dirty somehow. So I made Percy Jackson as miserable as I could, flirting with other guys in front of him, even if I never had any intention of talking to them after waving goodbye; setting up pranks with the Stoll brothers (although that rapidly backfired and they started getting _me_ instead.) even allying with Ares just to piss him off. But never once did Percy look jealous or angry. He always looked like he was in pain seeing me, and I always thought it was because I was happy and he was suffering.  
But now I was starting to wonder if he silently hated himself for letting me get away.  
I behaved so childishly about it all. My mother was probably ashamed of me, and I could only imagine the scoffs and angry retorts she would doubtlessly give me the next time I returned to Olympus. Which would be tomorrow to check on the rebuilding efforts.  
I sighed and set down the pen. Rolling up the blueprint and neatly tucking it in my gray messenger bag with its kin, I double-checked my luggage and made sure I had all the clothes I would need, plus the debit card given to me by my mother. During the week at Olympus I would be staying in a nearby hotel partial to my father, Dr. Frederick Chase. According to dad, they would give me a very good room at bargain price because his lectures had brought them more profit than they knew what to do with.  
That night, Capture the Flag wasn't the kick I had been expecting. It had been a close matchup, but as usual, Athena walked away victorious. We let Nike take the flag however; because that was the only way we could get them to ally with us. But the celebration dinner afterwards was anything but enjoyable for me. I spent the whole time poking at my food, a single sentence nagging me.  
I hadn't seen Percy at all that day. And he never missed Capture the Flag. What was going on?

**If I thoroughly depressed any of you (read Forgotten Fear. It's a lot worse in the depressing part.) be forewarned (again) it gets worse. Believe me, there is a chapter coming up shortly that had **_**me**_** bawling while writing it. I expect to have a few tears if I wrote it well enough.**

**Please review. **


	5. Resurgence

**Chapter Four**  
**Resurgence **

I STOOD CALMLY in the middle of Central Park, the same place I had surfaced after my escape. Below me, a dark deep hole was beginning to open up. I didn't move, even though several trees and benches were being swallowed up.  
The shadows began to bend to form the body of a tall humanoid monster. They whirled around him in a dark hurricane, steadily creating him on the surface of the world. It was still at night, so I kept my promise. It was nearly two weeks after I'd left Camp Half-Blood, but I'd been attacked so much it took me forever to reach Manhattan. Now, however, the Torturer was actually getting out. I had arrived just in time.  
I reached for Riptide when I remembered I had given it to Luke. I cursed, but I knew I had done the right thing. Now the legacy of Poseidon would be passed down. In a few years, maybe eleven, one of my half-siblings would cross the barrier to Camp Half-Blood, and Luke would hopefully keep up his end of the bargain. They would know who I was, and they would keep fighting. It depressed me that I wouldn't be able help to train them.  
I straightened as the Torturer came into wispy being in front of me. His misshapen face twisted into a cruel smile. He reached toward me, and I stepped back. "Hello again, Jackson. I did not lie, did I?" I shook my head.  
"No, you didn't. But I'm going to keep up my end of the deal. You won't see daylight, Torturer. I swore that on my very life." The Torturer smiled.  
"Did you now? Well, isn't that refreshing. You know-what was his name, Heracles?-He said the same thing once. Promised to see me crushed smaller than his grandfather Kronos. Quite a talker, that one. Unlike you. You barely said a thing your entire stay in Tartarus. It took me little time to crush Heracles. For all his strength, his wit was nothing. And despite that courage, he was unable to fend me off. No hero can, really, but some last longer than others. You lasted an awfully long time. Kronos begged me to make your stay especially painful, and repaid me by promising me a chance at freedom. I don't know what makes you and those other upstarts different from anyone else, Jackson, but it's something I don't know. The modern demigods are so weak-minded. Humans think they know everything, but they know so little. You were the first to beat me. I admire that. Hate it passionately, but admire it."  
The Torturer started pacing around me. I didn't move. I wanted to find out what his plan was, maybe give the gods a heads-up. "You think this will stop me, do you?" I didn't respond. "I can smell your fear, Jackson. You are suppressing it." The Torturer tsked shamefully. "Bad move. I can bring suppressed fears to the surface with just a snap of my fingers." To emphasize his point, he snapped, and I fell to my knees with a scream.  
The fear was too much to distinguish between any of it. It was just a rush of terror. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I tried to gasp, but nothing happened. I was literally suffocating myself. The less air I got, the more fear took hold. It was a vicious, endless cycle that I fought vainly to end.  
The Torturer crouched beside me. "The gods are fools, Percy. Don't you get it? They sent you to stop me like cowards, and by that very action they doomed themselves. Not only are you my anchor, Jackson, but you are also my slave. You are under my control, more than anyone else. You don't need to be a willing host. I can claim your mind anyway." Cold terror gripped me. "Yes." The Torturer cackled evilly. He grabbed the back of my neck, and the scar returned. Blood dripped to the ground beneath me, and I dug my fingernails into the cold hard Earth.  
Every horrible thing that had ever happened flashed through my mind, and I tried not to lose control, but it was useless. The Torturer was right. I was his slave. Tears of pain and grief rolled down my cheeks. Everything had been for nothing. I had been led into a trap.  
"It was Castellan who gave me the idea. You see, Kronos was foolish when he chose his host. Castellan still hated the gods, yes, but he loved a half-blood. And Kronos never thought about using her against him. I am not so foolish. You will be my vessel, my tool, and through you I will destroy that pitiful camp and take your lovely girlfriend as my own. She will never know what hit her until it is too late. They trust you too much."  
"No," I cried through hot tears and beads of sweat. My back arched. "You can't!" I reached for my pack, which I had dropped on the ground next to me. I tried to grab the Greek fire inside. It was better Luke and Bianca face a barely returned Torturer than a son of Poseidon who had been possessed. "I'm not Luke!" I screamed.  
"Weren't you listening? That's a good thing. I have enough control over you that you don't have to know what you're doing." I managed to grab hold of the canister of Greek fire, but the Torturer wrenched it from my hands. He threw it aside, and the trees nearby caught fire. I heard a series of screams from mortals trying to extinguish the flames, but the water had no effect. It was spreading. I felt heat pour onto my face.  
The Torturer yanked my head up by my hair, and I screamed through tears of fear and rage. "No!" I wailed. The Torturer's pale, black-veined hand reached toward me and entered, literally entered my skull. I felt his hand in my brain, and screamed twice as loud.  
"Be quiet!" he ordered, and despite how hard I fought, I fell silent. I still struggled against him, but my efforts were in vain. He had me under his complete control. Then I felt a rush, and some alien thoughts tried to invade my mind. I fought the Torturer back as hard as I could. One final scream was torn from my lips as my thoughts were snuffed out, and Percy Jackson forfeited to the Torturer with one final vow.  
_I swear on the River Styx that you will not win this war, Torturer. _  
"But I already have." came the answering reply from Percy Jackson's lips as The Ancient Fear took hold. "I already have."

The taxi driver-Ronald, he'd said his name was-wrestled vainly with my twin suitcases while I struggled with my messenger bag and briefcase. "You don't have to do that." I insisted, finally managing the lock on the car door and falling onto the asphalt, arms thrown out in front of me to stop my fall. The result was bloody palms and scuffed black shoes.  
"Nonsense," Ronald argued, bursting back out the opposite side and panting heavily against the roof of his taxi. He'd only retrieved the first suitcase. "A nice respectable lady like you shouldn't have to handle this all on her own."  
I rolled my eyes and instantly regretted my decision to wear the grey and gold dress suit suggested to me by Drew, a stuck-up Aphrodite girl with a bad attitude. I'd been so undecided about my clothes that I listened to her. Sadly, there were rare times where Aphrodite would have been proud of me.  
I walked over beside Ronald, politely asked him to step aside, and braced my foot against the floor of the taxi. Curling both hands firmly around the handle of my suitcase, I yanked back and it flew over my head. I stumbled backward, calling out as I flailed my arms, and Ronald caught me. Awkwardly, I thanked him, because the grin on his face wasn't just gratitude.  
"You're quite strong." he observed huskily, and I cleared my throat. "Look, if you need anymore help, call me." He handed me a same business card. I managed a dry smile.  
"Will do," I told him as sincerely as I could, even though I had absolutely no intention of ever contacting the taxi driver again. "Thank you again for all your help." I shouldered my bags and lumbered toward the nice double doors of the hotel, but Ronald apparently had not done his Good Samaritan acts for the day, because he was right behind me taking my thing off my shoulders until I had nothing left but my messenger bag.  
He now lumbered toward the doors, and a bellhop opened them. He puzzled over the city worker. "You're not an employee." he said arrogantly, and I resisted the urge to scoff. Like his job was particularly glamorous. Then I remembered Ronald was a taxi driver and remained mute as I trailed along behind him, apologizing constantly.  
When he finally dropped my things in front of the desk, the woman standing behind the computer looked at him in confusion. She snapped her fingers and a small boy in grey clothes ran over and picked up my things, two others in an identical uniform rushing over to do the same. "And how may I help you, miss?" she said sweetly.  
I smiled. "I'm Annabeth Chase. My father should have made a reservation recently. Frederick."  
The woman typed in my name to the computer and beamed.  
"Oh yes, here you are." she gushed, exactly as dad predicted. "You have a very special discount, Miss Chase. Your father also phoned in saying you might have a certain someone tagging along. May I ask if this is the case?" She looked over at the departed taxi driver in distaste, like she thought _he _was somehow my boyfriend.  
"What?" I demanded, alarmed that my father would do such a thing. I stiffened reflexively like I always did after I was insulted. "No, of course not. I haven't been involved in over a year."  
The woman frowned. "Then why...?"  
"I haven't the vaguest idea." I said shortly. "Perhaps you misunderstood him. But no. I'm planning on being alone every night for the next five, thank you very much." Then I realized how rude that sounded. "I'm sorry. Please, don't take offense. It's just..." I sighed. "Everyone has been sticking their noses in my business and trying to match make me back together with my ex-boyfriend, and they're all completely convinced we're in love, which we're not, because he disappeared and never apologized, and..." I realized I was babbling and unloading onto a woman I didn't even know. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that, it's just..." I stopped myself before I started rambling again. The woman just smiled.  
"Well, if all your friends think it's worth a shot, it might actually be worth your while. I know my sister Izzy and I disagreed for years on my ex, and I refused to see reason. Now look," she held up her left hand and a shining diamond ring was on her ring finger. "He proposed last night." I laughed.  
"You're joking." I told her. She shook her head.  
"You know what, I get off at seven. What do you say we go out for a night on the town? I'll pay for drinks." I smiled.  
"I wouldn't say no to hanging out with you, but I'm not even eighteen yet. I can't drink alcohol." She frowned.  
"Well, we'll find something to do. Oh, Annabeth, you'll be in C-209, on the third floor. Balcony, like your father requested." I smiled. "It's Val, by the way, dear. Have fun in New York!" she handed me my room key and moved to talk to another customer.  
I waved at her and led the bellhops to my room, trying the key three times before the green light came on and I could open the damned door. Bursting inside and sighing with relief, I helped the three men with my things, placing them all on the bed. "Can we get you anything, miss? Refreshments? Dinner?" I smiled.  
"No, but thanks anyway." They all shuffled out, and I was finally alone. After hours in the van with Argus, then in the taxi with Ronald, talking up a storm with Val, I was ready to finally be alone. It was nice in the peaceful silence of my room. Then I got bored with it and turned on the Discovery channel.  
Unfortunately, it drowned out the noises of terror that could be heard from the people three stories below, running for their lives.

**I would seriously like to thank pretty much all of you who write those "Percy-and-Annabeth-split-up-and-meet-again-years-later-when-they're-both-employed-and-living-in-the-city" stories, because I had to read about every single one in existence in order to get this chapter written.**

**I know it's a little disturbing and boring at the same time, but the action is about to pick up. The Torturer is sick and twisted. You have been warned again. So I don't expect anyone to be reviewing in telling me they're scarred for life. You are not Eric. You have read this of your own volition.**

**Anyone catch the Forgotten Fear reference there?**

**Yes, I'm obsessed. **


	6. Resistance

**Chapter Five**  
**Resistance**

THAT LITTLE UPSTART known as Perseus Jackson was wearing on my last nerve.  
_Shut up, Torturer. That's my body you're using. If I'm wearing on any nerves, they are _mine_._  
I growled and strolled down the streets of New York City, deliberately brushing the shoulders of those careless busybodies hustling to and fro, making them stop and smell the cold terror enveloping them. Soon, the entire city was rank with fear, and no one was safe.  
I laughed maniacally, brainwashing an elderly woman into thinking her small grandchild was on fire. She immediately fell to her fragile knees and started beating the girl until she cried.  
"Run!" I cried, basking in the distress so evident in the once oblivious city. Now, they all cared very deeply, because their worst fears were unraveling in front of their eyes. "Run! Yes, run away, you pitiful wastes of skin and blood! Flee from the fears which were destined to haunt you eventually. Pray to the great Greek gods for aid! Oh, I forgot. You don't know they exist." Some semi-sane individuals were staring at me in horror. "Behold! The great son of Poseidon, avenger of the gods, savior of Olympus. He is no longer at your beck and call. Nay, he now resides in my firm, unwavering control. Welcome to the Sixth Age, ladies and gentlemen. The Age of Fear!"  
I grabbed the long, pretty brown hair of a teenage girl and threw her to the ground in front of me. She screamed as she crashed into the cement, her nice face scraped up from the rough collision. Tears welled up in her eyes when she looked up at me, and I knelt down. "Please," she begged. "Don't hurt me." I brushed her face, grazing over her lips, and cackled.  
"Hurt you? Child, you don't know what you're missing. Pain makes you human, after all." I let my hand trail down to her button down shirt, and slipped open the first two clasps, revealing uncovered, honey-colored breasts beneath.  
"Get away from my daughter, you sick son of a bitch!" A middle-aged man yelled just before his foot connected with my sternum. I discovered I did not like being mortal. It hurt. "If you ever touch her again, I'll rip you limb from limb."  
I smiled at the man, and his fist landed on my jaw. I felt the bone crack under the assault and sighed unhappily, wiping away the blood with the back of my hand. The man growled and waited for me to stand. With a cocky wave, I sent him sprawling into a water fountain, the water contained within enveloping him and holding him under.  
And there he stayed.  
Submerged under water for minutes. One minute. Two minutes. Three...I laughed. He was still alive. His fear was the strongest of them all. He thrashed and splashed around, trying to lift his head, break the surface of the water. But he couldn't. Because the surface of the water had frozen solid.  
I laughed and clapped my hands. "Daddy!" the girl screamed, running over to the fountain and trying to break open the ice. By the time she succeeded, her father was floating over the water, pale with glazed eyes. She wailed and held him, soaked, rocking back and forth. And I decided she was no fun anymore. Fear of death I could work with. Grief was just dull.  
As I sauntered away from the unfortunate scene with a victorious glint in my eye, I felt something in the pit of my stomach inflame. It felt horrible. For a moment, I wondered if this was the agony my prisoners felt, and I was momentarily guilty. And the very concept I would think such a thing told me what the cause for my pain was.  
"Jackson," I growled darkly, dropping to one knee holding my chest. "Fighting me will do nothing. You are worse than dead."  
_I might be beyond help, Torturer, but_ "I'm sure as hell not going to let you terrorize the public." I sucked in a deep, raspy breath, grateful for the influx of air, however fleeting. My shaky arms and legs pushing me, I rose to my feet and surveyed the damage the Torturer had done.  
I found my jaw unnaturally sore and probed it cautiously. When I examined my finger, I discovered the tip was colored crimson and the only thing I thought was "Nice shot." I didn't know who had done it-the Torturer was a power-hungry fuck who locked me out of my own mind-but anyone who could land a decent shot at the Ancient Fear had my respect.  
My hands quaked uncontrollably as I dug around in my pocket for a single object of value. Anything to Iris Message Luke or Bianca with before it was too late. But I came up empty. Where were my drachmas? Oh yeah, I remembered, I left them behind because I didn't think I was going to need them anymore.  
I looked around for something else to use and saw a twenty dollar bill on the ground. I pursed my lips and frowned. It might work. So I picked it up and ran over to a nearby fountain, only to find a teenage girl with her father cradled in her arms. He looked dead.  
"Gods," I muttered. The girl's flashing eyes snapped up at me, and they narrowed in distrust. "Please," I begged her, holding up my hands. "You might not believe me, but I was possessed. I still am, but I might be able to save him." I leaned forward, but she spat at me.  
"No," her voice cracked. "You just want to finish the job." But when I rested my hand on the man's forehead, she didn't swat it aside. I wondered if she was hoping I was telling the truth so I could save her father. With my right hand, I submerged it under water and concentrated on transmitting the healing energy it gave me to her father.  
I had never done it before. Such things were the jobs of Apollo children. But if I didn't do something, I would be trapped for eternity inside the Torturer's head knowing I had played a part in an innocent man's death, and I couldn't do that. I couldn't just let him die. If there was anything life left in him; any chance Charon had not carried him through yet, I might be able to save him. But only if.  
I felt the water pulsate through me. The Torturer attempted to resist the good deed, refused to give me my full power, so the task was even more exhausting. But I somehow managed to break down those near impenetrable walls around the internal power within me. I felt my jaws and my hands and my knees and the cuts and bruises all over my body begin to heal, but I shook my head. "Not me," I ordered the ocean. And then I felt the energy drain.  
Several minutes passed, the terrified New Yorkers running and screaming for their lives. No one knew friend from foe anymore. Many of them were afraid of betrayal, and the Torturer had convinced them that their best friend was trying to kill them. Bodies lay everywhere, although I had no way of knowing how many had simply blacked out from fear or how many were beyond help. But for the sake of every Olympian god, I was going to save one man even if it killed me.  
Which it would.  
Finally, the power drain was too much and I collapsed to the ground, eyelids fluttering and barely conscious. Because if I did pass out, the Torturer would burst back through and the girl and her father would be in even worse trouble.  
I saw the man stir, and his daughter cried out in joy and hugged him. "Thank you," she told me, reaching over to throw her arms around me, but I held out my hand and shook my head.  
"Run," I croaked. "He's...coming back. Now run," Her eyes widened, and I figured I had just convinced one mortal of the existence of gods. Shit.  
She jumped up and supported her fatigued dad down the street and away from the fountain while I lay on the ground, half-dead.  
I felt the twenty crumple in my hand and breathed the prayer, "Iris, O goddess of the rainbow, accept my offering." I was no longer conscious enough to check if there was actually a rainbow to use. I lifted up my hand and throw the piece of green paper behind my head. I had no idea what happened to it.  
I was fighting with everything I had, but it wasn't enough. Before I could finish Luke's name, the Torturer returned, angry as hell.  
"How you try that, you pathetic little..."  
"What?" someone asked from behind me. I turned and saw the familiar face and torso of my old buddy, Luke Castellan. "Percy?" he sounded flabbergasted. "Does this mean you've found another way?"  
I was about to tell him the answer was yes, bringing up the conversation from Jackson's memories, but for some absurd reason I couldn't. "No," I said instead, and I knew it was further meddling on Jackson's part. "I just wanted to warn you to be on your guard. And I'm almost to Central Park. I've been slowed down by so many monsters it's not even funny."  
"You should have kept your sword." Luke concluded dryly, sticking his hand in his pocket and fiddling with what must have been Jackson's favorite weapon, Riptide. No wonder he was so easy to beat. He was disarmed.  
"No," I lied. "It's better this way. You remember what I told you?" Luke nodded.  
"Two weeks, yeah. Don't worry, Percy, I'm not screwing up this time around. Just...you did promise to try and find another way. Don't give up on me, okay? Camp Half-Blood still kind of needs you." I falsified one of Jackson's signature smiles, quirking the side of my mouth and laughing. It felt strange contorting my face in such a way. I smiled, of course, but my smiles were hardly ever friendly.  
"Thanks, Luke. I'll give it a shot." And then Luke whirled around, and a brunette appeared behind him, carrying a spear. He threw his arm through the illusion and it broke apart into Mist and vapor.  
I grinned. I had successfully thrown the little bastard off the scent, and now was time for me to move on to my next task.  
Revenge.  
"Did you think such a treacherous act would go unpunished?" I laughed darkly, directly the words both verbally and mentally straight into Jackson's tired consciousness. He screamed in my mind, and I laughed more. "Retribution will come swiftly and with pain, Jackson. You crossed the wrong primordial being."  
Jackson fought vainly against me, but he was far too drained from his most recent act of insubordination that he could do no more than stare at the mental walls I built up around him. I walked out of the alley where the fountain was and held out my arms, letting loose with a rolling, booming laugh that filled the chaotic city.  
I looked around for something half-decent to repay Jackson with and came empty for the longest time. I was beginning to reconsider my course of action for another time when I spotted a brown haired woman getting out of her car, stranded in the middle of the street. Jackson's horror was all I needed to know she was the one I wanted.  
I marched toward the little car, a Prius, Jackson's memories informed me; and more importantly, toward the woman who called herself Sally Jackson.  
This was going to be fun.


	7. Revenge

**Chapter Six**  
**Revenge**

I SHRUGGED MY SHOULDERS in front of the body-length mirror, the cascading blonde curls resting on my shoulders shifted slightly and falling behind my back. I pursed my lips, the gentle red tint glinting a little in the strange hotel room lighting. My green shirt, nice silk, went well with the light blue jeans I was wearing.  
Grabbing my purse-grey with a long strap to sling over my shoulder so it rested on the opposite hip-I walked outside my room and did a onceover to make sure I had my hotel room key, debit card, and ID. I wasn't sure what Val had planned, but I desperately wanted a night off, and this was as good a time as any to get it.  
I waited for the elevator for about seven minutes before I realized it wasn't coming up. Frowning, I turned a forty-five degree angle and jogged down the steps to the lobby. I quickly took note of the dense silence in the hotel. There were no watery noises from outside or laughter coming from the rooms, and there certainly wasn't the characteristic commotion coming up from the lobby that was associated with busy hotels. It was more than strange. It was unnerving.  
Suddenly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I knew trouble was afoot. Percy always called it his "spidey senses," just to tick me off, but the reality was demigods were born able to sense the presence of powerful monsters. Lesser foes like immature Cyclops could pass over unnoticed, but stronger beings unhidden by the Mist were easily identified. And I recognized that anxiety better than anything else. It had been ever-present on my quests and unshakable during the Titan War.  
Something was wrong.  
I was relieved I was wearing jeans, because anything else would have been a hindrance in a fight. Pants were easier to maneuver in by far. Skirts, tight or not, could wrap around your legs and trip you up. I often envied Percy and other boys their lack of expectancy to wear the gods- awful things.  
I reached into my purse and curled my fingers around the hilt of my knife. If it came to a fight, I was going to be ready for it.  
When I cleared the final flight of stairs and entered the lobby, it did anything but take my breath away. There was nothing. Just silence. The only sound was the rumbling AC and a phone that was ringing off the hook. But there was no one to pick it up. It was like everyone had suddenly decided to up and leave without as much as a word.  
I investigated, because as a daughter of Athena, perfect crimes bothered me. There was always evidence left behind. Always a way to trace things back to the cause. But the magazines were stacked neatly and carefully, the computers were logged off, the majority of the phones were even switched to automatic messaging. Except that one that was ringing so badly. It wasn't ever turning over to messaging. It just kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing, and ringing...  
It was creepy as hell. It made my arms break out in goose bumps and shudders of fear to race through my body. I stared at the phone, its chord spiraling off the desk, the sleek black receiver and holder looking daunting and professional as it sat there, next to the black screen of the Dell HP computer and the ergonomic keyboard. And it rang endlessly, echoing in my ears like an old melody.  
I briefly considered picking it up and then hanging it up quickly, just to make the horrible, gut-wrenching noise stop, but I knew I couldn't. I knew that was the only clue I had to go on. Well. Shit.  
I reached out toward the phone, and my hand hovered over the receiver for several moments before I finally picked it up. I swallowed; my throat suddenly dry. "Hello?" I croaked. I heard something crackle on the other end of the line, but there was no answer.  
Then... "Annabeth Chase," The voice was very clearly female and had a musical edge to it, but strangely enough, I could clear clicking. I couldn't help but feel like something was watching me very, very closely. And it scared me out of my wits.  
"Who is this?" I demanded curtly, leaving no room for intimidation or questioning. "And how do you know my name?" The woman laughed, and it made my skin crawl. It sounded like one of those laughs you hear from female movie villain as they throw their heads back and point a gun at your head.  
My lungs felt like they were being constricted. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I swallowed, but my throat was dry. The receiver shook from the instability of my hand, and it was all I could do not to faint. I had never felt so insufferably afraid. Not when I was in the Underworld. Not when Clarisse's Confederate ship was about to blow. Not when I lumbered under the weight of the sky or traversed the Labyrinth with Percy or when I watched Mount Saint Helens burst apart with my best friend still inside. Not even when I fought a war so drastically outnumbered and outgunned that fighting seemed to be a futile luxury more than anything else.  
Because right now, I didn't know what I was facing. And that scared me.  
"Let's dispense with the formalities, shall we?" mused the woman cheerily. "Names aren't particularly important, my dear. Not when revenge is the goal." I gulped and felt beads of sweat accumulate on my forehead, trickling down into my eyes. I blinked away the salty perspiration and took five deep breaths before I confident in the levelness of my voice.  
"Revenge for what?" I didn't let my fear into my voice. Well, I tried not to. There was the ever so slight quiver to my voice, barely perceptible. But I knew the mysterious caller heard it, because she laughed again.  
"Why, revenge for what your egotistical mother did to me, of course." You'd think she was talking about a cute dress she'd seen at the mall and not a gruesome method of vengeance. Which I knew we were getting close to. The bad guys always suckered up their victims before they delivered the literal punch line. "Honestly, how narrow-minded she is. No doubt you're exactly the same, sweetheart. But of course it isn't your fault. Your roots are flawed is all?" More sardonic laughter. "Sadly, my dear, like a plant, it is impossible to kill your roots without killing you. And of course, I get the unending pleasure of inflicting great deals of emotional distress upon your mother."  
I screamed and dropped the phone.  
There was a spider on my hand; one that I hadn't noticed until she finished her bemused speech. It was large, hairy, and watching me with intelligent and beady eyes. I snatched my hand back as I let out the distressed cry, and I could hear the loud, booming chuckles from my tormenter. "Wonderful creatures, spiders, aren't they? Interesting fact, you are never truly farther away from a spider than ten feet. They're everywhere, and they have quite the memory. Something they get from me, I'm afraid."  
I had raised the phone to my ear again, but at that moment the line went dead. I dropped the receiver and backed up against the wall, cold terror encasing me.  
The windows, the doors, the cracks in the walls, down the stairs, underneath the maintenance door, everywhere; spiders were coming. A horrible, black moving carpet scrapping against the hardwood and bearing toward me with a vengeance.  
I wanted to move. I needed to do something. They'd climb up my legs, crawl in my mouth, my eyes, like those horror movies. Only this was real, and no one was putting the Apocalypse to film. And I was about to die because of an army of arachnids.  
But I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could do was stare at the floor of my worst enemies all determined to kill me. At least I knew one thing, though. I had just been speaking with Arachne.  
I closed and waited for my death, but it never came. My skin started crawling, my entire world falling apart around me. It started my legs, my waist, my arms, then my neck and face, and I was blanketed by my mother's rivals. I crumpled to my knees and screamed, the cursed monsters crawling into my mouth, down my throat.  
I had lost.

Sally Jackson certainly didn't look her age. At least thirty-five plus, but she had that youthful glow to her, with gentle worry lines and smiles wrinkles around her thin lips. And her medium brown hair was long and bushy, tied back in a haphazard ponytail. Her car was idling and she was holding the top of her car door, face contorted in worry.  
Then she saw me.  
"Percy!" she cried. "Oh, honey, are you alright? What's going on? Was there an attack?" I stopped in front of her and smiled. She threw her arms out to hug her son, but I placed a hand on her chest and pushed her back into her car. "Percy? You didn't call me or anything after you dropped off your car. Is everyone alright? Annabeth? Nico? The new half-blood?"  
I laughed and threw my head back. "Oh, they're fine. I'm afraid I can't say the same for you, however." The woman knew her son, and my voice inflection and phrasing certainly was nothing like her beloved Heracles. Percy Jackson, descended from the sea god and this gutless whelp? I scoffed despite myself.  
Sally's eyes widened. "Who are you?"  
"An old friend of your son's, my dear. He crossed me, sadly. Gave me quite a headache breaking out because of his little expedition. Lost me two other prisoners as well, selfless bastard. But no matter. His futile attempts to warn have all fallen short. Now I get my revenge."  
I reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, fingers trailing down her neck to the exposed, pulsing vein. I shook my head. "No," I said. "Too fast a death." Her eyes grew wider if that was even possible. She shoved me backwards, and while I stumbled into a truck, she jumped in her car and locked the door, buckling in and gunning the engine.  
I watched her disappear, doubtlessly to warn or save some desperate individual from their fears. Shame that she'd fail. Only I could end the horrors inflicted upon unsuspecting individuals, and no amount of coaxing or condolences could ever save them from themselves.  
_You're going to pay for that, Torturer._ Jackson warned me darkly, his mind finally taking enough power back to speak. _Camp's going to stop you._  
"And how exactly are they going to do that?" I laughed, shaking my head. "They have no knowledge of my plan, and they will not have any knowledge of it for quite some time. What are they going to do anyway? Kill you? I beg to differ."  
_Don't be so skeptical, Torturer. Camp knows when to cut their losses._  
"Like they did with you when you mysteriously disappeared for four months." I retorted politely. Jackson started and I could feel the doubt percolating in his mind.  
_Luke's going to tell them I'm dead. They won't trust you, Torturer. They'll know you're a fake._ I shook my head.  
"An interesting idea, but no. Don't you see? With your memories at my disposal, I can pretend to be you without ever failing. I could have them all wrapped around my little finger and destroy them before they knew the difference. But of course, that's a little too anticlimactic for my tastes." I began to walk in between the cars, in the direction of the beloved Camp Half-Blood.  
_What is that supposed to mean?_ Jackson demanded fearfully. I laughed.  
"It means that your precious camp is going to burn."

The spiders were gone.  
I had been sure it was over and I was going to die some grotesque, unexplainable death, but just before I blacked out completely, the crawling sensation stopped and when I looked down, the hairy-bodied arachnids were gone. My skin had no marks on it, no abrasions or bruises. It was as if the entire ordeal had been in my mind and only my mind.  
But then why had it felt so real?  
Phobos, I thought immediately. Why the god of fear suddenly had it out for me, I wasn't sure, but it had to be him. There was no one else capable of eliciting such fear in a person. I clenched my fists and pushed myself to my feet, feeling foolish after being huddled in that ball to protect myself from creatures that didn't even exist.  
I really had to work on that arachnophobia.  
I picked up the phone and listened to the line. There was an even ringtone, as was the same with the others. The PCs lights were on, showing a desktop with a plain blue backdrop. The place was a mess; overturned couches, haphazardly thrown magazines. None of the careful meticulous order I remembered from before. Another hallucination triggered by Phobos no doubt.  
That was when I heard the screams.  
Thousands of them-heart-broken sobs, desperate cries, panicked yells-pouring in from the streets. Wide-eyed, I ran over to the window and looked out to see pure and utter chaos. Cars were stopped dead in the streets, some idling, some barely giving off life because they had been crushed so irreparably. And the drivers had all abandoned their vehicles. Instead, they had set out on their own. I noticed more than a few people on their knees with hands clasped in prayer, seemingly pleading with something that wasn't there. Just as I had been.  
Phobos wasn't just gunning for me. He had the entire metropolitan area of Manhattan in shambles. It was like what Kronos did during the War, only instead of putting everyone to sleep, their worst nightmares were coming true before their very eyes. Granted, it was no way to start an invasion, but it was certainly enough to send Olympus into frenzy. I resolved that I was going to the Throne Room of the Gods; just not to discuss statues.  
Knife in hand, I jumped out a shattered window and out into the streets.  
It took me forever to reach the Empire State Building. In the some fifteen blocks I had to clear, I'd nearly been stabbed to death eighteen times, gunned down twenty, mobbed thirteen, and tarred three times. All in all, not my best day.  
By the time I finally managed to stumble inside that lobby, the nice shirt and jeans combo I had been wearing was destroyed. Pieces of cloth were simply missing and my skin looked like Jack the Ripper had been using me as a sharpening stone for his knives. One of my sleeves had been completely torn off by a woman who'd grabbed me on the street, babbling about the end is nigh, and saying that the sinful peoples of Earth had to pay for their wrongdoings while raising a knife above her head. There was no remorse or sanity in her eyes. I had no way of knowing if she had been in her right mind before Phobos started the chaos, but at that moment, she had every intention of "sacrificing" me. So I flipped out, slammed the butt of my knife into her wrist, causing her to drop her weapon, and shoved her back. Her grip on my shirt had been so strong it tore off the fabric.  
I staggered over to the desk, exhausted, and leaned against it, looking down. The security guard was cowering underneath it, muttering incoherent. I did catch "Zeus" and "don't kill me" but otherwise it was all jumbled together. So I grabbed the key for the six-hundredth floor on my own and jogged over to the elevator, sticking it in and pressing the appropriate button.  
While "Another One Bites the Dust" was playing, I sagged against the wall and slid down it, resting my elbows on my knees and slamming my head into the wall repeatedly. I knew Percy, my long-time quest partner, was somewhere around camp right now, laughing his ass off with some girl who'd been hitting on him for forever, grateful I was finally gone for two weeks. Unfortunately, now was the time I needed Percy most of all. We'd always quested together, and now we certainly needed a quest. Not to mention, however much of a Seaweed Brain he might have been, he had a way of talking to the gods. They listened to him and they did what he said. I, for some reason, had never been quite as successful when speaking with immortal beings.  
I wondered if it was because Percy wasn't nice to them.  
Then I heard the elevator doors ding and look straight ahead at the shining splendor of Olympus. But I wasn't interested in gawking. I pushed myself to my feet and walked briskly forward. Hushed voices followed me as I went, and I distinctly heard Hebe say "I wonder if she knows." I wanted to interrogate her as to what she meant by that, but there wasn't time. New York was falling apart thousands of feet below, and I needed to find out how to stop it.  
I threw out my arms and the palms collided strongly with the rich double doors opening into the Throne Room. All of the gods, and I mean all of them, Hades included, were sitting around the center, talking frantically in Ancient Greek.  
"Annabeth!" my mother declared a little too happily, her voice echoing through the Throne Room. "What brings you here so early? I thought I told you you could come tomorrow."  
"That was before it occurred to me tomorrow might not be coming, mother. And since when does Phobos think it's fun to terrorize the public? Do you even realize how bad it is down there?" Athena looked shocked at my lack of tact, but I didn't care. "And where for the love of Elysium is Percy Jackson?"  
Now it was my voice's turn to echo. I was answered with awkward and guilty silence. Horror started to grip me. "Well?" I demanded, crossing my arms. "Aren't you going to answer me?" The giant form of the gods rippled as one, but it didn't intimidate me.  
"Dear," Athena said quietly. "I can't see why you care. Aren't you and Percy..."  
"I'm still in love with him and you know it. I believe the appropriate phrase is 'The heart wants what the heart wants.' I never wanted to leave him, but he was the one who left me, so I don't regret my decision. I just want to know where my friend is." Suddenly, Poseidon surged to his feet and I gave ground at his outburst.  
"How dare you presume to care about my son, you helpless wretch! You did not listen to his reasons when he tried to explain the predicament. If you had, perhaps none of this would have happened!" Before I could defend myself, my mother was on her feet doing it for me.  
"She did what she was justified in doing, Poseidon! Your son made no effort to tell her of his time in Tartarus, if I recall correctly. As a matter of fact, he permitted her to walk away from him!"  
"Only out of love and compassion your inconsiderate daughter knows nothing of!" Poseidon bellowed back at my mother, and then Aphrodite was involved.  
"They were a destined couple! Now both of you stop arguing over which one of them was to blame."  
"I'm right here," I muttered weakly, but of course, no one heard me.  
"We all know it was Hera who caused all of this!" Aphrodite turned sharply to the Queen of the Gods, who looked shocked.  
"What?" she demanded.  
"You and your useless quest for that peacock feather!" Poseidon screamed. "If you hadn't interrupted my son on his date, those damned monsters would never have found him and this all could have been avoided!" Hera looked alarmed.  
"Hey, are we all forgetting something?" Hades said quietly. Too quietly, as a matter of fact. The god of the dead was always bellowing. All eyes turned to him. "IF IT WASN'T FOR JACKSON, MY DAUGHTER WOULD STILL BE IMPRISONED!"  
"Oh," Artemis interrupted, joining in. "I see. As long as _your_ child is safe, why should we be complaining? Is that it?"  
"I'm glad we can see eye to eye." Hades nodded happily, and then everyone joined in.  
"Enough!" Hermes yelled over the clamor, surprisingly the one to break it up. Usually that was Hera's job. Then again, Hera was screaming just like everyone else. "Don't you realize what you're doing? The Torturer has succeeded in his mission. This unrest on Olympus is what he wanted, so he could break free." Hermes shook his head, and the snakes on his caduceus nodded their agreement.  
_No one ever listens to Hermes. Poor Lord Hermes. Always ignored, but always with something to say._ Said Martha sympathetically.  
_Not even when he has rats._ Provided George helpfully.  
_Enough with the rats._ Martha chided disapprovingly, hissing at him.  
_Why? They're good?_  
Hermes ignored his pets though. Instead, he turned his scolding gaze upon every god in the throne room, looking disgusted. He turned to me and sighed. "Annabeth," he said.  
"Yes?" I swallowed.  
"It's time for you to go back to Camp Half-Blood." And with that, he waved his hand and I was standing in the middle of the strawberry fields, luggage piled at my feet.  
I looked around; hoping the disaster unfolding in Manhattan hadn't yet reached my home. To my unending relief, things thing to be normal. Well, as normal as they could be at Camp.  
I left my things where they sat and ran up to the Big House, determined to find out what was wrong with everyone


	8. Requiem

**Chapter Seven**  
**Requiem**

Two weeks later, I had nothing.  
No leads. No explanations. No clue as to where the missing son of Poseidon was hiding. And absolutely no idea what the hell was going on.  
Camp was more than a little jittery, to say the least. It eventually came to light that Percy was gone, although where exactly was the question. And now entire cabins were turning on each other. Riots were breaking out in front of the Mess Hall-Area was leading the charge, of course-and cabins were sabotaging each other for no apparent reason. It wasn't just strange. It was downright disaster.  
And the catalyst to it all was that big-headed, overachieving, modest, handsome Percy Jackson. If he hadn't disappeared, none of this would have happened. And something told me the gods had something to do with his disappearance. As a matter of fact, I knew they did. I just didn't know why.  
One day, I was shuffling through Percy's cabin. Alright, so I had snuck in, but if something found out what I was doing, _I'd_ be the center-fuse for another fight. So I slipped inside the door while Clarisse (who had been trying to get in as well) was arguing with Will Solace from Apollo and eased the door closed. Using a flashlight, I scanned the dark cabin for clues.  
What should have been a dead giveaway was the fact things were _neat_. I mean organized, clean, and in order. Did I mention neat? He had all of his clothes hung up in my his closet, bed made, things put away _alphabetically_. How the hell did Percy Jackson alphabetize his belongings? Son of a bitch. He was supposed to be dyslexic, right?  
But I digress.  
And the scariest part of it all was his extensive stash of weapons and money hidden away underneath the floorboards of his closet. Ambrosia squares, plastic bottles filled with nectar, bags weighted with some twenty or so drachmas, and knives, swords, even spears tucked away out of sight. What had he been preparing for? World War III?  
But the most frightening part of it all was that same book I'd found on Percy's bed all those nights ago. It was simple and leather bound, like a diary. Gingerly, I opened it up and a piece of paper fell out. Frowning, I examined the neat, elegant script that I couldn't believe belonged to Percy.  
_The Last Will and Testament of Perseus Eric Jackson:_  
My breath caught and I nearly dropped the paper. Why had Percy composed a will? Sure, death was always a looming prospect with him, but the date in the corner was recent. He had written it...just before the Fireworks show. Slowly, understanding began to dawn and I continued reading.  
_To Annabeth Chase: Before we split up, I got you a couple architecture books as gifts. I realize it isn't exactly the best gift I can give you, seeming you should have gotten them anyway, but its all I have. I also have several weapons of which you can choose from, and my watch, the one Tyson gave me that turns into a shield, is also yours. The only weapon you don't have to choose from is Riptide, because its future owner is already written by the Fates._  
Tears welled up in my eyes. Percy had named me the first in his will? Why?  
_Annabeth, I have also arranged with my mother for you to receive my college savings in case of my premature death. Seeming I never quite graduated high school, all 50,000 dollars are yours. My mother has also arranged to continue adding to the funds, even after my death, at my request._  
I stared at the paper in shock. He left me his college savings? But I hadn't even known he was considering college. And if I had, I never would have agreed to this. I had the chance of scholarships. As a matter of fact, I had several colleges proposing huge sums of money just to convince me to attend. Free rides galore across the country. Architectural firms writing my father with propositions to pay for my tuition if I agreed to work for them for a predetermined amount of time. What could I possibly use 50,000 dollars for? It was too much.  
_To Grover Underwood: It might not be a lot, but I also redirected some of my personal savings, about 1,000 dollars, to a Preserve the Wildlife Project run in New Hampshire in your name. Because of it, they are giving you rights to twenty acres of forest on the outskirts of Rhode Island. Included in this will are a map and the exact specifications of your rights as a landowner. Make Pan proud._  
My eyes widened. I could only imagine Grover's delight when he heard about what Percy had done. At the same time, the knowledge that it also meant Percy's death might spoil the moment for him. My eyes were no longer brimming with the watery grief. They were rolling down my cheeks freely, and it was almost impossible for me to suppress the sobs threatening to escape.  
_To Nico di Angelo: I never told you so, but you were always kind of like a little brother to me. An incredibly independent and annoying little brother, but the feelings are still the same. There isn't much I can give you, and what little I could doesn't really seem that big, but the remainder of my personal savings account, which adds up to about 3,000 dollars total, is yours. I know it isn't even enough to pay for tuition at a private school, but with my mother's help, you might be able to invest it. Aside from that, the Pegasi in the stables have agreed to let you and your sister ride them without my presence. Granted, you can also shadow-travel, but if you're too tired, it might come in handy._  
With shaky hands, I slid that paper in behind the second page and continued reading.  
_To Clarisse la Rue: I know we never really considered ourselves friends, but you did save my butt a couple times, so I owe you. The weapons that Annabeth doesn't take are yours. I don't care what you do with them, and I never knew you well enough to tell, but that's the best I can do. And your cabin has naval support in case of trouble or something. Just don't use it against Apollo or any of the other cabins, please._  
_To Camp Half-Blood: You were always my home, so it seems fitting I do this. There's an apartment in the city with the lease in my name and a small cabin by Montauk Beach that's also mine. There's a long story behind both, but they can be used as safe houses for distressed demigods. I figure it was the least I could do after everything you guys have done for me. I just hope it's enough._  
The sobs had broken free and now I was shaky so badly I couldn't finish reading the last part of his will. I dropped the papers and they drifted to the floor. I hugged my knees and rocked back and forth, everything in my sad, pitiful life feeling meaningless and vain. Percy had literally given everything up for us. He'd given me a lot of money for college. He'd given Grover a place for nature to run wild. He'd given Nico a fresh start and a chance that the son of Hades hadn't had before. And he'd given Camp Half-Blood everything that was left. And to think I hated him for being petty. He was anything but petty.  
Suddenly, Cabin Three's door burst open and I heard loud voices. The loudest of which was Clarisse's. I didn't move or look up at them. I was too busy holding the shambles of myself together, because I was afraid if I let go of my knees, I'd fall apart.  
"Annabeth," Clarisse said firmly, and I felt her large, calloused hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong? What did you find?" With difficulty, I pointed at the second to last page of Percy's will. Clarisse eyed me suspiciously and I saw dirty blonde hair dart across my vision when she snatched up the paper. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then: "Can I read this out loud?" The question was soft and considerate, like a mother would say. I nodded.  
Clarisse cleared her throat and started reading, "'Dear Annabeth, I know we didn't work out, and every day I have to remember it was my fault that we didn't. I'm sorry for everything. But you have to understand, there was no other way. I was out of options.'" Clarisse paused. "What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded. I didn't answer, mostly because I didn't know. I had stopped reading at "my fault." "'I love you. I don't know if that's supposed to be past tense now, but it's true. Honestly, I managed to kid myself back when we were dating that we had something that could last, even though we were demigods and demigods hardly ever get a happy ending. But I want you to know that I never held it against you. I understand that you hate me for this, and you should. I screwed up and got careless and because of it everything went south. But I think I might have been able to handle it a little better if I'd had you with me."  
I heard Clarisse's voice catch and I knew I wasn't the only one crying. I said nothing as she continued, even though that line had ripped my heart out from my chest. "'But it's better this way, I think. I wish I could have said goodbye, but if I had, you would have stopped me. I know you would have. I would have if it had been any one of Camp Half-Blood, and I would have killed myself if it had been you. But I'm finally realizing what it means to cut your losses. I wanted a life with you, Annabeth. Now I'll settle for a dream.'" Clarisse sounded heartbroken. Sobs could be heard from the crowd gathered outside the cabin, listening to the final words of Percy Jackson. "By the time you read this, I suspect I'll be long gone. If not, please don't try to find me. I want this. I need this. I can't continue to live a false life and pretend that everything's okay when every day I lose a little more of who I am. I can't be a slave to my own fear anymore, Annabeth. I'm not sure what I would do if you tried to stop me. I might knock you out and finish the job elsewhere, or maybe even reconsider, but it wouldn't have changed the eventual outcome. I don't want anyone to blame themselves for this. The fault rests with me and me alone. I let this happen. I have to deal with the consequences. Signing off for good, Per-'"  
Clarisse stopped for several moments, her voice sounding uncharacteristically weak and vulnerable. "'Percy Jackson." That did it. She, too, dropped the paper and started crying uncontrollably, holding me while we grieved for our friend. It felt so strange, clinging to Clarisse over a man like Percy Jackson, but for some reason it made everything a little easier to take. I gripped the fabric of Clarisse's shirt and cried.  
And I pretended, if only for a moment, that Percy was alive and holding me, because I loved him, and then I lost him.


	9. Remember

**Chapter Eight**  
**Remember**

By the time I was all cried out, I felt more brittle than glass. I pulled away from Clarisse, who watched me carefully as she swallowed nervously. She turned and saw that everyone except her boyfriend was looking. Chris Rodriguez, however, held out his arms and Clarisse gratefully threw herself into them. Apparently even the daughter of Ares had a heart.

Unlike me.

I chased him away, I knew I did. Poseidon was right. I should have listened to him. I should have believed him when he told me he couldn't tell me where he had been. Percy had never lied to me before. What reason would he have then? But now it was too late to fix my wrongs. I couldn't go back. I couldn't...

Then I possessed with a crazy, desperate urge. I surged to my feet and selected a sword and Percy's watch from the pile of weapons. My knife was already fastened to my waist, so that wasn't a problem. I shoved a bag of ambrosia squares in my pocket and started for the door when Travis intercepted me.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"The note said he could still be alive. I'm going to find him. I might be able to convince him against whatever the hell he's doing, come up with an alternative. I've always been good at that, and..." But then a blonde-haired son of Hermes cut me off.

"You can't." Luke told me solemnly. "And there isn't." I watched him incriminatingly, and Luke sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his fist. Holding it out for my inspection, he unfurled his fingers to reveal a simple pen resting on his palm. I stared at it for a moment, disbelieving, until Luke pulled it back to his chest and uncapped it. It grew into a three foot long sword. Riptide.

"You," I growled. I felt my entire face contort itself in anger, and I threw myself at the treacherous sack of shit. Pulling back my fist and slamming it into the side of his face again and again, I pulverized him. Luke's face was covered in my blood from his nose, his mouth, the cuts on the side of his head. It wasn't until someone much larger than me-I don't know who-pulled me off him kicking and screaming that Luke wiped away the blood.

"Annabeth," Luke said quietly, then hissed in pain. Someone handed him an ambrosia squares and he nibbled on it tentatively. The cuts on his face started healing, and he took a deep breath. "Percy wanted me to wait before telling you. And I'm going to tell you everything." I slowed down in my thrashing and watched Luke cautiously. The son of Hermes took a deep and began.

And he told me everything. About Tartarus. About the Torturer. About the prison designed especially for demigods. How Percy made a daring escape and broke Luke and Bianca out on his way to freedom. How his death had resulted in his loss of the curse of Achilles. Luke didn't explain about just how terrible the prison had been, but judging by how quiet he sounded, I knew it had to be indescribable. Then Luke explained how the Torturer was a primordial being who had been trying to escape from his prison since the beginning of time, but Gaea, Kronos, and Zeus had all made sure he never succeeded. But now the Torturer had Percy, who had accidentally given the monster an anchor to the real world. And Percy gave himself up because as long as he lived, the Torturer could keep fighting for freedom and it would get harder to stop him every time.

When he was done, the only thing I could make myself do was stare at him, tears running down my cheeks. I shook my head. I didn't want to believe that Percy had _had_ to die. It just sounded so... predetermined. As if the love of my life had always been destined to die this way. Luke didn't read me the fine print, though. I knew what this all meant though. It meant Percy would die, be carted away to judgment, and then be abducted by the Torturer again. Only this time there would be no heroic escape. There would be no return from death. He would be trapped there for eternity until he was finally broken and left an incoherent shell hanging from manacles.

And there was nothing I could do. Because it was already too late.

I shook off my restrainer and they let go without a fight. Numbly, I walked forward and the crowd parted into an aisle for me. I ignored the sympathetic asides and consoling remarks made by my fellow demigods. I wiggled my fingers, hoping to feel them move, but it made no difference to the way I was feeling. I was aware of my body. I distinctly knew I was breathing, and I was walking forward, and my head was bowed, but I couldn't _feel _a thing. It was like losing Percy had severed my tie to sensations completely.

So numb.

I didn't know where I was going. Somewhere people wouldn't bother me. All I knew was that my feet were guiding over the ground briskly. I yearned so desperately to feel the earth press up against my feet, but there was nothing. The only thing I could feel was heaviness. So, so heavy. Like every step I took, weights were tied to my ankles, wanting to hold me where I stood. Or my entire body was filled with lead. No, concrete. I was brimming with concrete. That had to be it. Normal people didn't feel like this.

So numb.

Nico never talked about his time alone. He was always closed off, sullen. But I began to wonder if it felt like this for him twenty-four/seven. If so, she wasn't sure how he could live like that. Like everything tying you to life had been severed by the inconsiderate Fate of Death, Atropos. She who wields the scissors. And now, suddenly, I found myself praying to this otherwise unremarkable being in my life. She held no purpose for me. Not yet, at least. And still, I mouthed a prayer to her, begging her to end my suffering.

So numb.

And then I was standing at the beach. The Fireworks Beach. Oh gods, I thought. The last place Percy Jackson stood before he left Camp Half-Blood forever. I drank in the salty scent of the sea and grew intoxicated off its overpowering smell. I remembered, fondly, an instance back when Percy and I were actually dating, before everything went to Hades.

"_Hiya, Wise Girl," he teased, coming up behind me and wrapping his deceptively skinny arms around my waist. I tried to wiggle free, but true to his strength, was unsuccessful._

"_How's it going, Seaweed Brain?" I asked, laughing and responding in kind to that pitiful nickname of his. I had to excuse the lack of ingenuity, though. I was a daughter of Athena, born to ridicule Percy Jackson to his grave. He was at a significant deficit._

_Percy buried his face in the crook my neck and chuckled. "Great, now that I'm with you." I shook my head and Percy nestled me affectionately. Honestly, even though we had only been together for about three weeks, we already acted like a lustful married couple. Of course, we had been remarkably close friends for quite some time before I stressed a relationship between me and the oblivious Percy Jackson, and we had shared one kiss before the Titan War went full-gear. But still, you wouldn't know we'd been dating for so short a time period._

"_Isn't that a standard pickup line, Percy?" I asked him jokingly, turning around and meeting those fiery green eyes head on. The corners of his lips quirked in a goofy smile-his signature-before he bowed his head down and pressed his lips against mine lovingly._

_We'd kissed so many times at this point that you'd expect the magical feeling to wear off, but no. Each and every time I found myself in the arms of Percy Jackson, it felt like Elysium Fields. Perfect. Utopian. Wonderful._

_He knotted his fingers through my hair and undid my ponytail. I growled and pulled away, snatching the hair tie from his taunting grasp. "Knock that off, Percy." I told him curtly, gathering up my blonde curls and hastily throwing them back in the sloppy hairstyle. "You know I hate having my hair down."_

_Percy smiled. "And you know I hate when you have it up." I rolled my eyes expressively and turned back to the lake. Percy's firm, calloused hand grasped mine and together we shared a moment unrivaled by even the most romantic of Helen and Paris. Because unlike them, we actually had a happy ending._

"_I love you, Annabeth." Percy said suddenly, surprising me. I turned, shocked at the admission and pleasantly taken aback. But Percy misunderstood my reaction. "Oh gods," He said, slapping his forehead with his palm. "I am so stupid. I'm rushing things, and I don't want you to feel..." Without saying a word, I rose up on my toes and kissed Percy hard on the mouth, softening the kiss but retaining the urgency to it._  
_When I finally pulled away again for air, Percy's face was frozen in shock. "-obligated." he finished, inciting a bout of laughter from me. For a long moment, I could only beam at him like a complete idiot._

"_I love you, too." I finally confessed, almost overflowing with joy. "I can't believe I'm saying this so soon, but I love you more than I ever knew was possible." I took both his hands and looked up into his eyes, brimming with happiness as I knew mine were reflection. "Time to build something permanent," I muttered, pressing my lips to his a third time._

_And, if possible, that was the best kiss we had ever had._

I was shocked back to the present when a daughter of Nike materialized next to me. "Hello Alex," I said emotionlessly, the numbness even worse after my recollection of my time with Percy. Nico's girlfriend had been claimed shortly after her arrival at camp, but it had faded almost immediately from my mind with Percy's worsening condition and his disappearance. I felt guilty about the fact I forgot about her so easily, but Percy had occupied nearly every one of my waking thoughts and haunted my dreams with urgency. I wished I'd had the foresight to listen to my instincts sooner, before it was too late to save him.

"How're you holding up?" she asked gently, taking a step in front of me. I averted my watery eyes in shame, not wanting her to see how far apart I had come. Alex reached over and grabbed my bicep firmly, shaking me. I still didn't look at her. "Annabeth," she sighed. "I think a lot less of a person who's afraid to cry than one who cries and moves on."

Encouraged by her statement, I took a deep, shaky breath and looked up at her, vision swimming with the distorted images I was receiving of her face. Tears were trapped by my lashes, blinding me second before they fell. And infuriatingly enough, they just kept falling. "In answer to your question," I said slowly, using clarity as an excuse for slowness. "I've had much, much better days."

Alex laughed dryly, but it was no more than a single chuckle. My expression must have killed her amusement pretty quickly. "Yeah, I figured." She nodded, and after that, we stood in uncomfortable silence. Until: "Annabeth, I realize you've been through a lot, but is it possible I could ask you something. A favor?" I looked up at Alex in surprise.

Nico had chosen wisely when he started dating. Alex was a headstrong girl with an independent streak a mile wide, but she had a soft side to her too. She didn't show it nearly as much as she did the ferocity, but it was there, and it did come out. Like right now, when she watched me patiently, hands clasped in front of her. Her bright eyes were filled with sympathy and understanding, and I could tell she legitimately meant her concern. I smiled despite myself.

"Yeah, of course. But I don't see why you wouldn't ask Nico." Even I heard the leftover unsteadiness in my voice, but it was a lot clearer and significantly more level. I started to feel the sensations return to my fingers and the numbness gradually receded. I knew it would return, eventually, when the grief hit me again, but for now, I could work on being myself again.

Alex looked a little guilty about that. "Well...I kind of didn't tell him. I have a sister, an actual sister, and she, well, I-we got separated years back. She ran away from home one night and I stayed with dad. We haven't seen each other in years." Alex redirected her gaze, and I saw wistfulness in those swirling funnel clouds of her eyes. Sometimes it was weird looking at Alex. Her eyes didn't so much change color as I couldn't figure out what color they actually were. It never ceased to confuse me how she could have such an indescribable color of eyes.

I grinned. "Of course I'll help you. It's kind of part of my job to bring demigods to safety." Alex looked extremely relieved. She sighed and clapped me on the back. Alex was about to go around me when she stopped dead in her tracks. "Alex?" I asked, looked at her in surprise.

She swallowed. "Look. Be. Hind. You." She enunciated every syllable and nodded at something over my shoulder. Completely flabbergasted as to what could cause her to react so surprised stumped me, so I turned.

And came face-to-face with the man I loved.


	10. Forget

**Chapter Nine**

**Forget**

It was hardly a task breaking through the pitiful defenses around the supposed demigod sanctuary.

The problem had been reaching it. Jackson seemed utterly determined to stop me from seeing daylight, so he had a tendency to break through just before sunrise and duck into some unforgivable hole where now of the rays could touch me until nightfall. So I travelled only under the cover of darkness. Completely unnecessary and futile, really, but one had to admire the determination.

Of course, Jackson had ultimately failed. Because as I came to stop at the crest of the legendary Half-Blood Hill, the sun rose and bathed me in its splendor. Jackson fought me with everything he had left, and he almost summoned enough control to call out and warn his friends, but I silenced him before he could.

Now slumbering fitfully, Jackson would hardly be a concern from then on.

With a sweeping step, I sauntered forward. And met a snarling barrier of golden scales and gleaming white teeth. I quirked an eyebrow at the fifty-foot plus dragon halting my progress, and the beast shrunk away from me fearfully. With a chuckle, I pressed my palm underneath his snout and guided him out of my way, walking past with no further interruptions.

I searched for something to really make Jackson pay. Aside from the meandering demigods lazily swinging their weapons with no true intent, I found nothing worth frightening. Feeling severely disappointed, I tried to locate a scared individual, but all I could sense was grief. Well, damn. They already believed the savior of Olympus dead.

We were just going to have to remedy that, now weren't we?

I saw her, standing in front of the shoreline, speaking with a red-haired girl significantly younger than she. Her blonde hair looked in disarray, strands sticking out at various angles from the sloppily done ponytail. Her clothes hung limply from her indeterminate form, and the jeans were rather unflattering. I stared at her from a distance, trying to see the allure of the daughter of Athena, but I found nothing the slightest bit attractive about her. I considered stirring Jackson to interrogate him, but thought better of it. Having him in the way of my seduction would only make matters more difficult.

So I came to a wordless stop behind the girl and waited for her to see me. She was agreeing to something the other girl asked her. Then the redhead took a step around her, clapping on the back as she did so, and froze when she saw me. "Alex?" Jackson's lover asked concernedly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The girl swallowed in disbelief as she stared at me and said, "Look. Be. Hind. You." The unattractive and yet beloved Annabeth Chase turned around to face me, shock written all over her slightly fairer face. Mentally, I noted the symmetry found so desirable in modern females, higher cheekbones and angular features without seeming gruff or masculine. Her skin had a tinted shade, the side-effect, I believed, of moderate sun exposure. Also found desirable on a preferred mate. And her breasts were not unwelcoming or small, yet they held no true volume either. Frowning, I studied her.

"Percy?" she breathed. Then her face contorted in surprise and question. "Is something wrong?" I realized what the frown had to look like from her end and decided that I would use it to my advantage.

"You just...I didn't think I was ever going to see you again." I told her, false relief dripping from my voice. It was obviously the right amount too, because Chase burst into tears and threw herself in my arms, sobbing desperately and clinging to my shirt like she was never going to let go.

Perhaps this seduction was going to be significantly easier than I had predicted.

"Shush," I breathed sweetly in her ear, prying her gently away from me and looking into her eyes. Jackson's strife at the mention of her name told me they were no longer romantically involved to any extent they would admit. But she radiated a painful emotion that nearly had me crumbling were it not for the knowledge that very soon her fear would make me drunk. "It's okay? I'm here now, aren't I?"

Annabeth laughed, the amusement miniscule compared to her relief. "I thought you were dead. That Torturer thing..." She buried her face in my shirt again and I smiled, seeing the perfect opening I hadn't expected to have.

"The Torturer isn't a problem anymore, Annabeth. He's back where he belongs and he's never going to come out again." I carefully worded the condolences so that they weren't complete lies. It was true. I was where I belonged, among those beings so susceptible to my presence and there would be no need for me to "come back out" of Tartarus. I was free, and that was how it was going to stay.

"Really?" she breathed, looking up at me. I nodded and echoed her question back at her with conviction, causing her to pull away and sigh in relief and joy.

Then she punched me.

It was such an unexpected reaction that I felt the pain come in a rush and sweep over me, agony radiating from my abdomen at her assault. My eyes widened. Perhaps I had chosen the wrong individual, and this woman was not the Annabeth Chase from Jackson's memory.

Or worse yet, he had fallen for some sadistic bitch who took joy from inflicting pain.

Then I might have contention for power.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth, Percy? Why didn't you tell me you were captured and _tortured_ for four months? Did you think I wasn't going to believe you? Or were you just trying to protect me?" One look into Jackson's mind told me my answer.

"Protect," I grunted, holding my stomach and doubled over in pain. Annabeth stood in front of me, grey eyes flashing. Looking up at them, I realized why Jackson had fallen for such an irregular woman. Those eyes were as bewitching as Circe's.

"You didn't have to, Seaweed Brain. From the way I hear things, _you_ were the one who needed protection." I groaned. I was seriously wondering how mortals could live with the constant threat of pain looming over them. It was maddening. I decided that once I razed Camp Half-Blood to the ground, I would dispose of Jackson's shell and embrace my true form. No more hosting. It was too painful. Annabeth was still ranting, arms flailing about in emphasis to her words. I only found the movements annoying, distracting, and dangerous.

"You were taken to _Tartarus_. I can't believe you didn't tell me that. I thought we were friends, Percy, before we were a couple." She whirled around on the heel of her foot and started pacing closer to me and then farther away. Finally overcoming the pain, I rose and faced the moody teenager, cautious of her. She turned to face me and jumped.

Then she kissed me.

As soon as her lips met mine, I understood Jackson's lust. She was quite the romancer. Her ginger lips were both urgent and teasing at the same time, and she seemed to enjoy a moderate intensity that made my newly discovered passions rise like an inferno desperately needing to be quenched. As soon as our mouths began their dance, I was overwhelmed by the sensations and pulled her up against me, temperature rising quickly.

Instantly, Chase pulled away in alarm. I tried to close the distance again, but her look of shock and outstretched arm held me in place. I didn't understand her problem. Hadn't she initiated the kiss? And yet she looked as if I had done something shocking and unforgivable. She seemed to be impossible to predict.

Quite the inferno, though.

"What in Hades, Percy?" she demanded incredulously. "You never kissed me like that before. Ever. Now all of the sudden you're 'all hands on deck?'" Jackson had never been so weak a man as to take advantage of her then? Yes, I decided. She did smell of virginity. As passionately in love as they claimed to be and they had never had intercourse? It was almost laughable.

"I'm sorry." I said quickly, copying Jackson's apologetic reactions to accidents and unintentional mistakes. "I didn't...it's just..." I turned my face away, Jackson's personality not so easily imitated, as it turned out. He seemed to be my polar opposite in nearly every way, making his behaviors difficult to mirror. But I managed it. I took in a deep breath and let it out in a quick, deflating sigh. "I thought I was never going to see you again, and I guess..."

Chase smiled, closing the distance between us and wrapping her arms around my waist. "Well then," she said. "If you missed me, why don't you see me?" My eyes widened and I knew my pupils were dilated with desire.

"Gladly," I muttered into her ear huskily, making her laugh before I smashed her mouth to mine and kissed her as passionately as one could. One arm on her lower back and the other knotting through her hair, I pressed myself against her with the determination of a predator.

Well, Jackson, I thought. You missed your chance to have this provocative young woman. I am not going to be so naive.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she said suddenly, pulling away a little bit. "We're not even eighteen yet. And it's the middle of camp. Slow down," But she didn't sound serious. A grin was playing with the corners of her lush, pink-tinted lips, welcoming me to take more of her than just their sweet succulence. And I was ever-aware of her moderately-sized breasts doubtlessly screaming to be tasted. Oh, this was going to be far more fun than I had thought.

Chase rose on her toes to kiss me again, and unfortunately, just as she guided her tongue into my mouth, Jackson chose to wake up.

I stumbled away from Annabeth, horrified at what the Torturer had done. That sick son of bitch was trying to seduce _my_ Annabeth. I wouldn't let him. He couldn't get away with this. He had already broken past my attempt to stop him from seeing sunlight, but he had already redirected his attentions to sleeping with Annabeth. Using me! It wasn't going to happen, dammit! Not if I had any control left over my mind or motor functions.

"What?" Annabeth demanded, trying to take a step forward, but I only backed up. Annabeth looked confused. "A moment ago you were gun-ho. Now you're afraid of me? I can't figure you out."

I opened my mouth to warn her that I couldn't be trusted anymore and I had failed, but the Torturer trapped the words in my throat. I struggled to say something, anything, but before I could even form the warning in my mind, I lost control again.

Jackson's attempts at retaking his body were becoming increasingly intolerable. I decided he had done some nearly irreparable damage that I would have to somehow mend, so I straightened and stared at her. "I just...don't want anything to go too quickly. I mean, I guess this means we're back together, but..."

"Back together?" Chase echoed, and I hoped the incredulousness in her voice didn't mean Jackson had officially doomed my plan. "Percy, I've loved you for a long time. Probably before we really even understood what it meant, and definitely since I was fourteen and holding the sky. The _only_ reason I left you is because I somehow got it mixed up in my head that you were cheating on me or something. Now that I know the truth," She took a step forward, a playful, provocative smile playing with her lips, and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me closer. "I am never letting you go again."

With a laugh, she kissed me again, and Jackson screamed in anger. But I had won, and soon Chase would have, too. She pulled away, chuckling against my lips, and I joined in, the laughter with an edge to it. I felt Jackson pray that the uncharacteristic mirth would tip her off, but Chase didn't seem to catch it. "You went through a lot, didn't you?" she asked, her forehead resting against my chin.

"Yes," I answered. "You could definitely say that."

"_Annabeth?_" I turned, entwined with the daughter of Athena, and saw Luke Castellan looking dumbfounded and murderous. Until he saw me, and which point his face broke out in a grin and he ran over, clapping me on the back. "Sorry," he apologized to us both. "I thought _you_ were dead." He stared at me pointedly, and I tried my best to shrug guiltily.

Luke's eyes widened.

Without a word, he grabbed Chase's arm and yanked her away from me, backing up quickly. "Luke, what are you..." She tried to break free of his grasp, but he gave her no room to struggle.

I chuckled, no longer attempting to hide my true identity as it was already exposed. "Well, well, well, I should have known you would be the one thorn in my side. So, Luke, what gave it away?" The son of Hermes curled his lip in disgust, and Chase stopped fighting with him. Instead, she directed her grey eyes to me, horror and pain dancing in their depths. She knew.

* * *

_No_.

I didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to believe that my lips had pressed against a monster's. Didn't want to consider that I had professed my love to a primordial demon. Didn't want to think that I had somehow betrayed Percy by flirting with his worst enemy. But the truth was written clear as day all over that paling face, the shadows of evil flickering in those green eyes. The green eyes I had really fallen in love with. I shook my head and stopped fighting with Luke.

I swallowed; my throat suddenly and painfully dry. I tasted metal and wanted nothing more than to drain the Long Island Sound. My voice seemed to croak out when I attempted to verify my suspicions. Even though the look of arousal and malevolence in "Percy's" eyes told me everything I needed to know. "You're the Torturer, aren't you?" I asked, hating the weakness and vulnerability in my voice.

The Torturer smiled. "Oh, something like that." He confessed. "Before you start jumping to conclusions, you should take into account that I am ten times more powerful than that ignorant whelp Kronos and therefore do not require a willing host." He motioned at Luke, who tensed visibly and growled. "Oh, now, now," the Torturer teased. "Let's be civil, shall we?"

I couldn't believe how positively _cheery_ the Torturer sounded. I had always thought villains in Hollywood who were happy and laughable were fun and not remotely frightening, not to mention a little ridiculous. But now, faced with this newest advisory, I realized that it was only another medium of insanity. Sadistic insanity.

The Torturer's eye twitched slightly-hardly something most people would notice-but to me it was like he'd gone into a fit of epilepsy, I knew Percy's face so well. Gradually, his face turned white and his pupils seemed to expand, taking up more and more of his eyes. I knew that very shortly Percy would be unrecognizable, the evil face of the Torturer stealing his handsome features.

But that eye twitch gave me hope. "You took Percy's body without his permission." I reminded him. "You'll have even more trouble than Kronos did controlling Luke." I said that with such conviction I was sure the Torturer's smug expression would at least falter, but instead his grin just grew and that pale color deepened.

"That only shows how little you really know." The Torturer patronized, patting me derisively on the head and smiling like you would at a small child who just made an understandable and stupid mistake. "I've already told you that I'm stronger than Kronos, and Gaea wouldn't have locked me up if she thought she was a match for me. I assure you that your boyfriend is more than defeated."

I clenched my hands so tightly that I felt my nails begin to bite into the flesh on my palms and was numbly aware of Luke releasing my arm. Stalking forward with deliberate slowness, I came to a stop in front of the Torturer/Percy. And slashed my knife across his cheek.

The Torturer smug look vanished to be replaced with cold, heartless anger. Dark, dark red blood, darker even than normal, as if black paint had been mixed seamlessly with it, stained the edge of my blade and contrasted against the whiteness of Percy's face. The Torturer's thin lips narrowed, pressing together as he focused on me with a hateful glare.

Something told me not to meet those opal orbs, the pupils now forming the majority of his eye, but there was some kind of exterior impulse that dragged my eyes up and forced me to stare in them. They were flawless black, and yet I saw a universe of evil and rage swirling in their depths. I tried to look away, to tear my eyes from that sight, knowing that something horrible was coming. I struggled, vainly, to shut my eyes and close out the horror the Torturer had conjured up for me, but my eyelids were glued open. I couldn't look away. I couldn't move to push him back or close my eyes to stop the flood of grotesque images common sense told me were fast on their way. I was rooted to the spot and at my most vulnerable.

And then in those black orbs images began to form. People and places swirling into focus, and gradually colors filled themselves in, like a fast moving artist in a sketch book. Images and scenes overlapped, forming a type of translucent mirage of faces and things, blending together. Slowly, the images cleared, becoming crisper, and I saw men and women in pain. Replays of the Spanish Inquisition...injured men from the Revolutionary and Civil War with sub-standard medical supplies being forced to saw off useless limbs with no anesthesia and no sedative...modern day third world countries with children so skinny they hardly looked human...torture implements rating from pathetic to excruciatingly slow and painful...

And then the images blended again and began to alter themselves, morphing in the faces of my loved ones. And then I saw Percy, strapped to a Rack, and then to a wall, while a tall, horrible creature cut into his arms with a malformed black knife. And then I saw Luke and Bianca in the same position, and then Nico, and Chiron staring at me solemnly as a flash of light blinded me and an ancient voice bellowed "Your time has come." And then my mother stood in front of me, over Percy's charred body, and she said, "I told you he wasn't worthy of you." And then there was Hera, smiling expansively as she stared down at me, and I felt myself shrinking, shrinking, becoming a tiny spider as Hera grew larger and larger and crushed me beneath her godly foot. Then all of the gods were looking at me, Olympian and minor alike, and at the same time, they thrust out their thumbs and pointed down and I felt myself falling, falling into oblivion. Then I saw Percy again, writhing and screaming and fighting against an invisible wall in a pool of black, and his green eyes shown brighter than the dense, dense shadow, and those beautiful sea-filled irises flashed desperately, and then Percy screamed "Fight him, Annabeth! Fight him! I love you!" And then my father was...

I pushed away from the Torturer and only then discovered that his arms had been holding me still while those horrid images tormented me. My throat was even drier and I somehow knew I had been screaming. My cheeks were cracking from the evaporated tears that had just seconds earlier been running freely down them. I staggered away from the Torturer, who looked alarmed, and felt Luke's strong arms wrap under my armpits and steady me.

Recollecting myself with more difficulty than ever before, I faced the Torturer down and saw that a crowd had gathered. He seemed to notice it for the first time as well. As I looked around at the bewildered, horrified expressions of my friends, I realized that their eyes had been redirected by the spectacle regarding me and my horror to the Long Island Sound. I turned and saw that the Torturer had his back to me and his arms outstretched toward the ocean. I realized too late what he was doing.

"Perseus Jackson was limited by his mortality!" The Torturer called out to the masses, and I knew everything was rising to a sure and steady climax. "He could only do so much without imploding himself or causing severe amounts of chaos and unrest. He was stronger than most, yes, but not strong enough to call upon the infinite reserves of the sea. I..." The Torturer stared pointedly at everyone, that cheery, borderline satanic grin returning to his face. "-am not so limited."

And then the ocean began to rise, twenty feet, thirty, forty, over one hundred feet off the ground, the sunlight reflecting off of it in a beautiful assortment of colors. The water framed itself into a dome, and the river and lake rose to support the growing oceanic ceiling, tall columns of water spinning like a tornado as it shot up above at the command of the man who used to be the love of my life but was now a focal point for a terrible, terrible monster. The water maxed out and then began a controlled descent, and judging by angle and speed it was falling at...

It was going to lock us in.

I realized it too late, and some campers had been faster than me, closer to the barrier. "Run!" I shouted shrilly, my voice so hoarse from my earlier unconscious screaming that I barely managed to choke out the order. But Luke picked up on it, immediately repeating it over and over, his musical and commanding voice calling everyone's attention and sending them all sprinting for freedom, chaos reigning as people screamed in horror and tried to escape first. But they were heroes, and the trampled campers were lifted onto their feet and hauled to safety.

They might have made it if they hadn't been heroic.

Only about five or six total demigods managed to break past the barrier before the water descended and locked them in. The remaining attempted escapees tried to go through, but it was like a solid wall to them.

I had run about halfway up Half-Blood Hill when my hope was suddenly and completely extinguished. Enraged and estranged cries filled the air as campers gave one last futile attempt to get through; firing three bullets-_bang bang bang-_into the water dome. But instead of going through, the water rippled and the projectiles ricocheted back into the innovators who thought of it in the first place.

After I lumbered my way up the hill, I saw several people crouched and wailing desperately as they held their friends and loved ones close, rocking them back and forth. Three bullets out of the three fired had found separate marks, and now three campers lay dead on the ground. Chris Rodriguez, Clarisse's boyfriend, had caught a nine millimeter in the skull. His face was frozen in desperation and shock while Clarisse stared down at him in tears and pain. She turned her fractured eyes to me and I knew that she had lost the equivalent to what Percy was to me. There was hardly a person in there anymore.

And then the Torturer appeared, standing at the water dome, and looked down at the dead. He snapped his fingers, and all three immediately shot back up, gasping their first breath of air after their last. I gaped at them, smiling, thinking that Percy had somehow forced the Torturer to save them, but they all started screaming in pain and agony, tearing at their skin and eyes and taking off pieces of flesh. Clarisse and I attempted to pin Chris down, but it was like he didn't know we were there. And I knew the Torturer Good Samaritan act had served no other purpose than keeping his toys in his control.

"Things are going to change!" He called, his voice rolling over the ears of the gathered campers. "You are no longer at the beck and call of the gods, but rather, you will now serve me loyally and without question." Immediately, snorts and scoffs echoed through the crowd as demigods told him on no uncertain terms that they'd follow his command _never_. The Torturer face contorted in exasperation and anger and he jerked his thumbs downward. I felt myself get forced to my knees and thought dully that he was being a little predictable there. The kneeling because of magic or influence thing was done to death, wasn't it?

"You will obey me and do as I say, or you will feel my wrath." The Torturer chuckled. "Oh, please disobey me." The campers didn't look up at him, grunting under the strain of fighting whatever dark magic he had manipulated to force them to their knees. I didn't fight, though. I was saving my energy for later, and praying that there was a later.

Just then, Chiron galloped forward, staring at his enslaved students in horror, and then looking up at Percy, whose veins were turning black. "I've only heard of you." He said. "You're Η αρχαία φόβο." I frowned at the Greek and couldn't seem to conjure up the translation readily to mind.

"The Ancient Fear," The Torturer mused aloud. "Yes, that is what the call me. But most just refer to me as the Torturer." Those dark orbs drove into Chiron's eyes, and the centaur collapsed onto his front legs, screaming.

And then I felt those orbs turn to me, and I tensed. "And you, Ms. Annabeth Chase. You are going to be very lucky." My legs pushed me up to my feet against my will and I stumbled into the Torturer's arms. He tilted my head so that I looked up at the butchered face of the man I had once hoped to marry and pulled his hand away. Shadows bent around a nothing in his fingers, and suddenly, there was a black diamond ring in his hand. He forced it onto my left ring finger, and I couldn't pull away. I knew what he was going to say before he said it, but I was dreading the inevitable. I knew I didn't have a choice, couldn't say no, couldn't fight him, couldn't...

"You are going to be my bride."

* * *

**Please review. And as a warning, next chapter is going to be dark and terrifying and definitely worthy of the M rating given to this story.**

**I would like to point out the anonymous reviewer that although I enjoy constructive criticism, I do not respect outright insults with no explanation or justification. When I request harsh reviews, I should mention I do not want quote, unquote "flames," but rather things that I can use to better my writing. And as far as the M rating goes, may I point out that had you ever read an adult book or erotica story you would know that immediately diving into the sex and dark themes turns people away. The purpose to the M was so that my readers understood from the get-go what they were getting themselves into. If you read this story hoping for some disgusting perverse scenes, they will be in here, but I believe in quality. So if you read this and find yourself utterly and completely insulted, please, hate me and do not read any more of my stories ever again.**

**To those of you giving me good quality reviews that I can use and apply to my writing, thank you very much. I just thought it was necessary to make my sentiments very, very clear. But please, do keep reviewing, as long as it isn't along the lines of "You're a shitty writer whose stuff I'm reading just to make you feel like crap." Well, actually you can, I don't give a damn. It just means that my very polite and complacent responses publicly will get to you because you personally have an obscenely low self-esteem and need desperate help.**

**So, Mr. "Guest," next time, at least have the balls to use your account so I know whose name to call out. And I'm seriously sorry for you being so horribly insecure that you have to put other people down. Have a nice life!**

**-thein273**


	11. Violated

**Warning: The following contains mature scenes with examples of violence and sex. Reader discretion is advised.**  
**This is a rewrite of my old one. Personally, I find it cleaner and more accurate to the trauma Annabeth faces in this assault. Again, I cannot stress it enough that anyone who has experienced sexual harassment in any degree, be it nothing more than an unsettling wolf-whistle or an attack from the bushes, should contact the authorities. No one has the right to violate you in any way, and if you feel threatened or uneasy after an experience, they overstepped the line. It doesn't matter what anyone tells you: It isn't your fault. You are the victim. And men, you can be raped as well. It is not unique unto women. Everyone needs help, and if a few more people speak up, then that many less monsters will roam the streets.**  
**There won't be any bolded text this time because I made it cleaner for my audiences. There is a few seconds of sexual contact, but it isn't really explicitly explained and I really think you can handle it fine. If not, then I suggest you simply skip over this chapter entirely. I had to rewrite it after so long a pause because I couldn't go anywhere with the original and I needed to update.**

**Chapter Ten**  
**Violation**

After the Torturer's "proposal," things could only get worse.

Literally overnight, Camp Half-Blood was swarmed with monsters pouring in despite the watery prison around us. The Torturer, using Percy's body, asserted his iron-fisted rule over the demigods, and we were chased out of our cabins. Hermes, because of its size, had been used as a bunker for the monsters, as had Apollo and a gutted Aphrodite. The Big Three Cabins still stood, Cabin three hosting the monster himself out of nothing more than spite. To our surprise, the Torturer had agreed to let the Big House remain, but it was rapidly discovered that it had been converted into a torture chamber for the demigods who fought The Ancient Fear. Besides the Athena cabin, everything else had been razed to the ground.

The influx of monsters had apparently decided that the woods were detracting from their view, because they sent in Colchis bulls to burn it down. I watched from a distance as the fiery-skinned automations tore through the thicket and engulfed it in orange and red flames. Grover Underwood and a few other satyrs attempted to save it, but several of them were turned into shrubbery but exasperated monsters with pointy weapons. From the few words I managed to work out of Grover, at least twenty dryads had perished in the fire and he had no idea where his wife, Juniper, was. I wanted to comfort him and help him find her, but before I could, the Torturer's patronizing voice called out after me and I had to rush over to him to stop him from slitting an angry Clarisse's throat.

My siblings tried to help save the other cabins, already knowing that theirs would be spared. Hermes and Apollo attempted to help as well while Aphrodite spent the majority of its time squealing in terror and hiding under their pink and red bed sheets and using their mirrors as shields. But there was nothing to be done. Within five hours, fourteen cabins were smoldering in ruins on the ground, the half-bloods who once called them home wailing in grief and clinging to one another.

Three Nike campers were killed when they tried to save their cabins; one dispatched with an arrow and the other two a club. Their siblings dragged them to safety and tried to revive them, but all three had been dead before they hit the ground. Apparently the Torturer didn't want everyone to come back from the dead.

The new order was immediately introduced to us. Demigods would sleep in the arena and food would come in the morning and at night. At dawn, we would assemble in the strawberry fields for roll and then proceed to our stations. Building shrines to the Torturer. Collecting uncooperative demigods for torture. Training with the Tartarus-risen demons for war against the gods.

Or, in my case, training to a proper barefoot and pregnant wife.

I was treated like a Queen. While my friends and family suffered from hunger and exhaustion in the arena, I lay on a soft, plush bed with three meals a day. Hecate campers were put to work making magical clothing for me. Night gowns of satin and silk running smoothly down the curves of my body. Hephaestus forged ceremonial daggers for me, and although they were beautiful, they were also wicked and evil. But I was required to wear them whenever I was walking around camp.

In other words, never.

That was my problem. I couldn't leave the safety of my cabin unless I was accompanied by some foamy-mouthed monster with far too much investment in my breasts. And if I was with a monster, I couldn't do the things I wanted to. Help out my siblings and friends in the building. Defend fellow demigods against the tyrannical government we now existed under. Aid others in attempts at getting one last conversation with their mortal family before the inevitable and unavoidable end.

I had already given my phone to Clarisse out of desperation, hoping someone might be able to call home and warn them. Or maybe not even warn them. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to call my dad and tell him that he was always a wonderful father and that I loved him, even though I ran away. I wanted to tell him to keep working with those Sopwith Camels and that I was proud to have him as a dad. I wanted to apologize to my little brothers Bobby and Matthew and tell them to behave themselves. And finally I wanted to talk to my stepmother and tell her that I was wrong to act so adversely to her and that I was being unfair and biased because I wanted my real mother. I wanted to make amends. But I knew that if I told my father what had happened, he'd come running. He'd drop everything and fly up with one of his chartered helicopters and start spraying the water barrier with 7.7 millimeter bullets and only become the victim of ricochet. I knew that the moment he found out his baby girl tinkered on the brink of death, he'd sacrifice himself to save me. And I'd marry a monster knowing I had gotten my father killed.

But I wasn't sure I had the strength to keep my mouth shut about my predicament. I wasn't sure I could hear my father's voice without bursting into tears. I couldn't be sure I wouldn't break down and beg to be saved or start babbling about how I wished my life could have been longer. Untainted by a wedding ring forged by a monster. Or that I hadn't given up so easily and Percy and had fought with him to find out the truth instead of throwing up my arms to defeat. I wished that I could've been marrying him on my birthday and not that wretched primordial obsessed with controlling me, body and soul.

I started to think it was better this way.

But I had come up with a plan that just might work, but I couldn't do it alone. I snuck out in the middle of the night two days after Camp Half-Blood was overtaken and gathered up as many drachmas as I could, burying them by the river. Then I hurried over to the arena and slipped past a snoring monster to tell Malcolm my plan.

Tomorrow morning, instead of gathering for roll, the campers who still had families who would be expecting them to return home would seek over to where I hid the drachmas and, as morning light broke through and created a rainbow in the misty overhanging, they would all pray to Iris for one last conversation with their families. The goddess couldn't refuse. Meanwhile, to stop the monsters and the Torturer from interfering, the campers without families to go home to would riot in the strawberry fields and start trying to bring down the entire camp. That would attract enough attention that even the Torturer couldn't stop both groups at once.

I waited anxiously in my cabin for it to work. I heard the rioting and yelling and screaming from outside, then winced when I heard gunshots. Everyone participating in the riot had done so with the understanding of what would come of it. I wondered how many bodies would be thrown in the mass grave by the Big House today and how many the Torturer would bring back to life so he could torture them until they went insane and then give them the peace they deserved.

I wrung my hands nervously, biting my lip with a vengeance and filling my mouth with blood. My blonde ponytail was a mess from me constantly running my fingers through it. My face was darkened by fear and brightened by hope when I heard a camper shout in victory. Bags had developed underneath my eyes from so many consecutive nights of no sleep, and nail marks glistened red on my cheeks from raking my unkempt nails across my face in despair and anger. I hadn't ever done it, but there had been several times already when fear drove me to consider using that ceremonial knife to kill myself, but I never had. And I wouldn't. That was the coward's way out.

And the fool's.

Despite everything that pointed to the contrary, I still wanted to believe that there was a chance Camp Half-Blood could be saved. Maybe a remorseful god who felt it was due time demigods were repaid for their trials or an army of friendly Cyclopes led by Percy's half-brother Tyson against the settling force. I wanted to think that there was a chance logic and wisdom could win out against the unstoppable brunt strength of our enemy.

But I knew better.

Because what made the Torturer so unstoppable wasn't the fact that he had an army of unbeatable monsters behind him. It was his voice. Like another Adolf Hitler, smooth, convincing, disarming, and yet sharp and intelligent enough to stir an entire country to war. Or to death. That kind of seducing quality to his gravelling, ancient voice that, if you closed your eyes, could be perceived as almost attractive. He knew exactly what to say to get someone to either give in to him completely or to pull away until they tumbled off a cliff. He knew the words that would drive a person to madness and then snap you back right afterwards. For a man who knew nothing but emotions derived from fear, he was a remarkable speaker.

And that was more dangerous than any sword ever forged. We had lost the war before it ever began.

I heard a long string of cries split the morning open and shut my eyes tightly, looking away from the door. Suddenly, it burst open, revealing Clarisse standing in the doorway, holding my cell phone. She tossed it to me and I caught it in alarm. "The plan worked." She told me quickly. "Call your father, and..."

Clarisse was cut off mid-sentence by an arrow that flew through her shoulder blades and came out just underneath her breast. Her face froze in the urgency it had worn seconds before and she looked done at the bloody onyx blade. Then she collapsed.

Stepping over her body, the Torturer advanced on me, and I resisted the urge to scramble behind the bed. In his hands he held a crossbow, now empty, painted black. His favorite color. The camouflage pants and dark muscle shirt rippled over his pronounced muscles when he rolled his shoulders and his sparkling magician's cloak fell off of him, onto Clarisse. She was still moving, gasping for air because her lungs were filling with blood. Her lips glistened red when she coughed and I found myself glancing anxiously from my fallen friend to my fiancé in terror.

Clarisse wheezed desperately and her brown eyes seemed to plead with me. I swallowed. "Sweetheart," I said as evenly as I could. "Could you do me a favor?" I hated talking to him like I, one, even liked him, and two, like I was an idiot, but if I wanted to save Clarisse, it was the only way.

The Torturer tilted his head sideways and looked back at the daughter of Ares, scowling. "You want to save her?" he sounded disgusted. Like he had any room to be judgmental. "Why?"

I smiled as sweetly as I could and inched toward him. "Oh, you know my Good Samaritan act for the day." It was so utterly fake a plea that I was convinced it wouldn't work, but the Torturer shrugged and stepped aside.

I raced for my drawer and pulled out a canister of nectar in a spray bottle and three squares of ambrosia. I fell onto my knees at Clarisse's side and threw off the Torturer's now bloody cloak, spritzing her wound with nectar as I grabbed the arrow shaft just under the head and looked Clarisse in the eye. Continuing to squirt the nectar on her wound, I nodded at her to brace herself. Clarisse groped around for the Torturer's cloak, but I just dug around in my dresser again and handed her an old shirt, waded up, and Clarisse put it in her mouth and shut her eyes tightly.

During the entire time, the Torturer was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and right foot propped up while he watched me try to save my friend. Clarisse's face was contorted in pain, and I took a deep breath. "Are you ready?" I breathed.

She shook her head, but waved her hand to tell me to get on with it. I stared at the arrow, feeling terrified. I felt like I was the one near death about to experience what it was like to have an arrow yanked out. But Clarisse was beginning to pale, and she was coughing more and more, her cheeks now coated with a thin layer of blood. If I didn't do something right now, she would die.

"Gods, Clarisse." I muttered, horrified by the wound. "I don't know if I can do this." Her eyes snapped open and she looked at me firmly, and I knew what she meant. You have to, or he wins. I nodded. "You're right." I told her, working myself up. "I just have to-" Clarisse grabbed my arm and pushed it, pulling the arrow out, effectively, by herself.

She screamed and spit out the T-shirt, roaring in agony as blood began to seep through her shirt. Frantic, I threw the shirt and arrow aside and opened the spray bottle, pouring the contents onto her wound. I stuck two ambrosia squares in her mouth, and she chewed in between screams, swallowing it almost whole. I used my shirt to stem the bleeding, praying to Apollo under my breath. "Please let this work. Please let this work." But my pleas were drowned out by Clarisse's cries, so pained and traumatized that it brought tears to my eyes. Salty tears rolled down my cheeks and I continued to pray, holding pressure to the wound. "Apollo, please spare her. Let her live. She doesn't deserve to die. Please let this work." Clarisse arched her back, still screaming, eyes closed so tightly I thought they were sewn shut.

Then she went limp.

My eyes widened, and my hands pulled away from the wound. For a moment, I leaned back on my heels, staring at the daughter of Ares. Her face was pale and glistening with sweat and blood. Her orange T-shirt was stained red and her palm also shown with crimson because she was clenching her fists so tightly. And she wasn't moving.

"Clarisse," I muttered, shaking her. "Clarisse?" Fear gripped my chest and I stared down at her, horrified. "Clarisse!" I shook her, trying to jerk her awake. She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. "Clarisse, wake up! Wake up, damn it! Come on!" Tears rolled down my cheeks freely and I shook her angrily. "Don't leave me! What about Chris? He needs you! Clarisse!" I knew that I hadn't always liked the mean girl, but I discovered eventually that she was a good person deep down. Just afraid of what her father thought of her. But once she stepped out from the shadow of her dad she was kind hearted, firm, and brave. I valued her as a friend and comrade and trusted her with my life. And she had comforted me when I lost Percy the first time. She had given me my phone out of risk to her own life so I could call my family and say goodbye. She had risked everything for a man she loved dearly and would've given her life to save him. She even confessed to wanting marriage one time.

She didn't deserve to die.

I pressed my ear to her chest and sighed in relief. It was faint, utterly faint, but there was a heartbeat. She was alive.

I looked up at the Torturer, eyes silently begging him to help her. He sighed and reached or her, but I blocked him. "Swear it on the Styx." I told him. "Swear on the Styx that you won't hurt her and you'll make sure none of the monsters lay a hand on her until she's recovered and you'll let the Apollo campers and Chris nurse her back to health." I looked at him unwaveringly, and he growled.

"You don't trust me?" he guessed correctly, sighing. "We're to be married in a week and you don't trust me?"

"A week and a half." I snapped. "November 14. Swear it." The Torturer's face twisted in a smile.

"Fine," he said. "I swear on the Styx to save your friend and leave her unharmed until she is recovered by the hands of the Apollo children and Chris Rodriguez as long as Annabeth Chase promises to let me have a favor in return."

My heart constricted. He met my requirements, meaning there was nothing I could argue with about it, but he also exceeded them. He wanted me to do him a favor, and I was scared about what that favor might be, but reluctantly, I nodded and stepped back. Seconds later, Will materialized in the doorway, looking ravaged from the fight and swallowed as he picked up Clarisse, limping away toward the arena.

I breathed a sigh of relief and rolled back on my haunches, covered in blood. I scowled down at my sticky appearance and pushed myself to my feet, heading toward the door and what remained of the showers. I actually wanted to walk by the lake and see what damage had been done by the Torturer's men, but I wouldn't say that aloud, or even really think it, out of risk of him hearing.

Suddenly, a pale hand slammed the door shut in my face. I started and stepped back, turning fierce eyes to the Torturer. He smiled that twisted smile of his and traced my arm with his hand gently so that it tickled the hairs. "You know," he purred huskily. "I've always wondered about the feel of a woman's flesh. So many men have clung to that memory, and I can never access it." He leaned in and pressed an deceptively chaste kiss on my lips. "I guess now I can make my own memory."

I shot back like a bullet and shoved him back. "What do you think you're doing? You might be my fiance, but you are not deflowering me. Forget it." Subconsciously, I adjusted my dress on my shoulders so it covered more of my breasts.

The Torturer grinned hauntingly. "But don't you remember, my dear? You promised me a favor." He wrapped his icy arms around me and pulled me close. He reeked of sweat and mildew, and I knew he'd spent a large amount of time in the attic torturing people recently. That made me want him even less than I already did. I squeezed my arms between us and wedged them there, holding him as far away as I could.

"You can look," I told him dangerously. "But you cannot touch."

"Oh can't I?" he teased in my ear, suddenly pushing me onto the bed and leaping on top of me. Before I could react, he tore my top and left my breasts completely exposed. I yelped and tried to wiggle out from under him. He kissed me fiercely, claiming my mouth and me by default, and his frozen digits crept down to my underwear, which were somewhat seeable because he'd ripped the dress pretty far down.

I thrashed around wildly and then his fingers pushed aside my clothing and dipped down to me. I knew this was supposed to feel pleasurable and satisfying, but I wanted to be sick. My cries for help died in my throat or were muffled by his hungry "kisses," although they were really just another level to my violation. He continued to stroke me, and I whimpered, begging him to stop. He misinterpreted it as "push in."

"No!" I screamed, and in a burst of pride and indignation, kicked him off. He growled and came at me again, but I rolled over my back and landed in a crouch on the other side of the bed, opening the drawer and taking my knife out. When he scampered over the bed, his arousal visible through his pants, I brandished it professionally. He faltered, staring at my weapon in fright.

"You will not touch me," I told him. "No one can touch me that way without my permission. Ever. And so help me, I swear by all the gods of Olympus and my mother's mind that if you ever try that again, I will make sure you never have the equipment to attempt it again." To emphasize my point, I redirected the tip of my knife to his erection and pressed it hard against the peak. Judging by the agonized expression on his face, it wasn't fun. "Do you understand me?"

He was frozen under my gaze for a second, then he slowly backed away. I didn't lower my knife. "The Ares child is a dead woman." he hissed. "You didn't fulfill your deal with me. I promise you will hear her screams."

I glowered at him. "I didn't cut off your dick," I growled. "I should have. The Fates consider than favor enough. Go ahead and try to kill her. You won't be able to do it." I hoped my haughty talk wasn't just showmanship; I really believed the Fates accepted that as retribution. And I could only pray they did too.

The Torturer looked contemptuous, but beneath the hatred was his own breed of fear; doubt. I could see it tumultuous in the black orbs of his face, and for a second, there was a flash of green. In those green eyes was a triumph I could only dream belonged to Percy in his one moment of freedom before he was stuffed back under the sadistic exterior of the monster he had once crossed.

With small, hasty footsteps, The Ancient Fear wrenched open my door and sauntered outside, huffing.

I dropped the knife only then, stumbling over to the door and latching it again. I collapsed to my knees then, posture and bravado forgotten, and curled into a ball.

I cried like a little girl then. And I didn't stop until my tear ducts were cracked from water-loss. Then I rolled over onto my side and slept, plotting my revenge.

Because now I knew that Fear could fear, and I had never been one to waste an opportunity.


	12. Plotting

**Sorry for the long wait. I mean, legitimately sorry. I couldn't figure out how to word this chapter, because it was interlude, and I screwed with a million ideas before going back to square one and rewriting part of Violation to get me in the swing again. Now I'm back, and I'm kicking for good this time. Let's finish up this bad boy, shall we?**

**To recap:**

**Percy and Annabeth started this out as exes. Annabeth dumped Percy after a four-month absence (read synopsis) and it is revealed that Percy was imprisoned in Tartarus with a creature called "The Torturer," who is effectively the primordial fear. At a school dance to which they are summoned to by Nico di Angelo, the undead parties Luke Castellan and Bianca di Angelo appear, killing two empousa and shooting a gun into the air, sending everyone to the floor. After some arguing, Nico goes back to Camp while Percy and Annabeth (plus Alex, the new-not-so-new-demigod-girlfriend-of-Nico) interrogate the two breathing corpses. After a terse exchange with Luke, Percy realizes the two of them are also escaped from Tartarus. He goes back to Camp Half-Blood, leaving Annabeth worried because of his strange behavior. As it becomes apparent that the Torturer's resurgence is at hand, Percy becomes more an more detached until he turns crass and asocial entirely, pulling away to the creek to sort his thoughts when Hera appears and tells him that he is an anchor for the Torturer to the mortal plain. As long as he lives, the Torturer has an out. **

**At The Fireworks, Percy reveals his plan to Luke and promptly leaves Camp Half-Blood. Shortly thereafter, Annabeth heads into the city to work on Olympus, but things come up in her way. Like hallucinating Araidne on the phone with everyone gone. Meanwhile, Percy confronts the Torturer only to be defeated and possessed by him, promptly terrorizing the public. Annabeth is summoned to Olympus and screams at the gods, but they send her back to CHB and she finds Percy's will in his cabin. Luke tells her everything then, and she's distraught. She goes to the lake to reflect, talks to Alex, but then "Percy" shows up behind her. Smooching ensues, but then Luke realizes who it really is and pulls her back. The Torturer has an evil moment, then a large tsunami encloses CHB in a giant water dome and he claims Annabeth as his fiance. Monsters pour in and everyone is subjugated. **

**Annabeth arranges for a riot so the campers with families can call them. Then Clarisse runs in and tries to give her her cell phone, but is shot. To reason with the Torturer into sparing her, Annabeth agrees to grant him one favor. He tries to rape her, but she resists. These are events almost immediately after.**

**So now you're caught up and don't have to re-read. That should remind you of what's going on, so be happy. If there are still people actually reading this, I'm shocked. Thank you for sticking with it. I love you all for waiting patiently.**

**There is kind of a sudden "What the hell?" ending to this. That's deliberate and not just me being lazy. It's short, but it has to be, as I reiterate at the end. So enjoy! And please review, although I kind of don't deserve it.**

**. Chapter Twelve  
Plotting**

I strode through Camp Half-Blood with deliberation in every step, my knife - not the ceremonial piece of crap the Torturer gave me - clutched in my right hand. I wore my old clothes, an orange tee with mid-thigh shorts, and my hair was in a simple ponytail. I had my Yankee's cap in my left hand, but I wasn't wearing it. I wanted everyone to see that Annabeth Chase had had enough.

The Big House looked submissive in the twisted light from the refraction off the water dome. The blue shingles were starting to seem sickly, and parts were coming off. An endless stream of screams pierced the air, offset occasionally by a booming laugh from the Torturer. They sounded like Luke and Bianca. I didn't hear Clarisse.

I stormed up the porch steps like an irate wife who'd just found out her husband was cheating on her when a familiar hybrid in chains caught my eye. "Annabeth," my mentor sighed helplessly, dangling from the Celestial bronze restraints like a fly caught in a web. He hung between the window and the column for the awning, his drown hair caked with blood and white horse fur splattered with the same. His eyes were old and tired, like a man who'd almost had too much, but there was still an age-old resiliency in there that glowed like the dawning sun.

"Chiron," I choked through strangled tears. I wanted to embrace him, but I couldn't even put my arms through the chains to attempt it without getting tangled up. "How are you?" It was such an uncharacteristically stupid question, but only moments ago I had barely evaded rape and worse. My wits were dulled.

Chiron chuckled to himself, still sounding like the aging teacher I'd always known. "I have had much better centuries, child. But in comparison to the suffering I see Percy in, hardly anything to complain about."

"What?" I said, startled. I gripped the railing and looked out, deliberately not facing Chiron directly because monsters were giving us funny looks. "You mean he's still fighting?"

"You of all people should know Percy and Luke are in many ways the same person. As Kronos manipulated Luke and he resisted, thus Percy does the same. The Torturer is stronger and more resourceful by far, and instead of simply locking Percy away he prefers in ensure cooperativeness by torturing him. But I've seen Percy in there before, when he talks to me. He's desperate, Annabeth. And he's beginning to loss hope."

Tears gathered in my eyes and I sucked in a long, shaky breath, regaining my composure. I brandished my knife at an eavesdropping monster and he carried on his business wordlessly. "We all are, Chiron. No one knows what to do anymore."

"I know," he agreed. I couldn't bear to meet his fatherly eyes. "What you did today was wonderful, Annabeth. Your mother is proud of you."

"What are you talking about?" I denied haughtily, bristling. No one but a choice few people knew I was the orchestrator of the riot/Iris Message fiasco that morning, and after the trauma I'd just suffered with the Torturer, I didn't want anyone to find out.

Another chuckle reached my ears. "The Torturer knows of your involvement, Annabeth. He seemed more shaken than enraged when he yelled at me, so I assume he values you as a pawn more than as an example."

I turned to look at him. "Shaken?" I echoed. "Shaken how?"

Chiron seemed to think for a moment. It was remarkable how he could look so collected dangling off the ground with all six limbs being pulled various directions, but he managed it fine. "Fearful, as though an illusion had just been shattered. I've seen that look many a time on converting demigods."

A triumphant smile spread across my face. "I thought so," I whispered, turning back to the camp as a whole. "Thank you, Chiron. I think you told me all I need to know."

With that, I headed off for the Oracle.

* * *

Rachel was being held captive in her own cave, which was once lavishly decked out with the latest game equipment and littered with paints, but now was nothing more than a heap of discarded bloody weapons and a single, bug-infested mattress on the ground. Rachel lay awake on that when I killed the two monsters standing sentinel outside her door and lifted the scarlet curtain, flicking it over my head easily. "Get up," I ordered, maneuvering around the piles of bloody implements. Rachel surged upright, staring at me in shock. "Get up, Rachel. Come on, I have a question to ask you."

Rachel scrambled to her feet and ran over to hug me. The affection lasted over two minutes, and I didn't mind holding her back, but I had too little time for niceties. "Rachel, I'm sorry. But I have to ask you a question. And I _need_ a prophecy desperately. So you've got to work with me, okay?"

Rachel nodded enthusiastically, wiping her eyes. "I'll try my best, but the Oracle..."

"She had to," I interrupted. "This is not a 'if you feel like it' question. This is genocide or victory." Rachel drew a deep breath and waited. I closed my eyes, phrasing it first in my head carefully, then asked, "What can I do to stop the Torturer from ransacking the remainder of Camp Half-Blood, marrying me, and destroying Olympus with whatever other conquest he had planned?" It was a long, detailed question that could have been more concise, but I had no room for creative liberty. Fate could be ironic at times, and I couldn't wait around for it to feel cooperative.

Rachel just stood there, staring at me. Her mouth didn't spew green smoke and her eyes didn't turn green. She said nothing. My heartbeat quickened and I heard footsteps approaching. It became a now-or-never situation, and I made a motion with my hand to tell the Oracle to hurry up.

Suddenly, Rachel went stiff and her arms flared out at her sides, green smoke bellowing from her mouth as she boomed:

_An unholy union thwarted by divinity,_

_his evil influence fought by a trinity._

_The Hero lost and regained through the ultimate trial,_

_his legacy endure through wisdom's guile._

Rachel collapsed, her prophecy finished, just as monsters tore through the curtain. They shredded it with their swords and shot one scathing look my way before grabbing my arms so tightly I called out and plunging a sword through Rachel's heart.

**I know this is short, but it needed to be. It's coming to a close, I really do promise. I shouldn't have too much trouble finishing now. Give me maybe four more chapters, and that's stretching it. Probably closer to three. Or two.**

**For those religious people out there, "trinity" means three, it has just come to mean the Christian triangle of God. I pass no judgment. I only chose that word for the rhyme and nothing more. Feel free to speculate about the prophecy, as it will continue throughout this story. For the sake of this series, please ignore the Great Prophecy for the Heroes of Olympus. It means nothing. There are no Doors of Death in this. Unless I radically change my mind, that is not part of the story. Sorry, but it doesn't fit. **

**Sorry again for the wait:**

**-thein273**


	13. Martyr

Chapter Thirteen: Martyr

I sat beside Rachel while she dragged her brush over a canvas, talking idly about my newest architecture design.

"I was thinking about having the stairwell guarded by merman statues," I rambled, but Rachel paid me no heed, thoroughly invested in her artwork even as I lifted the blueprint up to her face. "And two tridents are either side of the doorway. The interior is going to be... Rachel, you aren't listening to me."

"Sorry, Annabeth," she mumbled disinterestedly, poking the canvas as though dotting an "i". "I guess my heart's just not in it right now. This painting is kind of important."

I frowned and set my designs aside. "How so? Normally, you still pay attention to me when you're painting."

Rachel nodded. "I know. It's just... Well, see for yourself."

I did as I was told. And my blood ran cold.

In Rachel's terribly realistic style, every brushstroke had given birth to a vivid image. But this was, by far, the worst and most horrifying she had ever done. Piles of canvases and palettes were strewn everywhere, burying her air hockey table and hiding her flat screen TV from sight. In the middle of the disaster was the body of a redheaded girl, body framed by a puddle of like color and face snow white, staring up at what could have easily been a camera. Her vibrant green eyes were wrenched open in fear and glued to her brows, mouth slightly open as though in a silent scream. Her right hand laid on the ground as though it had been reaching at the moment of her death. And worst of all, Rachel had signed her name directly over the corpse.

Violently, the memories struck me and I fell backward, off of the picnic bench. I held my head and rocked back and forth, murmuring disbelieving sentence fragments under my breath. Minutes passed, and I would not look up at Rachel. Eventually, she knelt down beside me and hugged me. I didn't hug her back. "Annabeth, stop."

I obeyed and inhaled shakily, pulling away. Rachel's face sent chills up my spine. It was translucent and white, showing her bone underneath. Her eye turned misty and ivory and she rose slowly. "I died to stop The Ancient Fear from rising. With Rachel Elizabeth Dare, my spirit passed on. Only a truly worthy candidate can reclaim the Oracle of Delphi into herself. Do not let my-and her-sacrifice go to waste, daughter of Athena. You are the Olympian's last hope. If you fail, all will fail. Hope is counting on you, child. Remember:

_An unholy union thwarted by divinity,_

_his evil influence fought by a trinity._

_The Hero lost and regained through the ultimate trial,_

_his legacy endure through wisdom's guile._

I lurched awake to someone gently pressing a cool washcloth against my forehead. My eyes flew open to see the Torturer, looking me over with mock concern. "Hello, darling," he purred. "How are you feeling?"

"Ah!" I screamed, slapping his hand away and scampering back into the headboard. "Get away from me, you demon! Go back to Tartarus."

The Torturer clicked his tongue and scouted closer to me along the bed. "Harsh words," he chided, bending down to press his lips to mine. I turned away so he kissed my cheek. Anger flared in his eyes, but it died quickly. "You really should work on curbing that attitude, Annabeth-bear. We are to be married very shortly."

I turned my coldest glare to him. "I'll be dead long before. And you know it."

"Actually" He stood and took a glass of water from the nightstand, offering it to me. "I know quite the contrary. You are no coward, Ms. Chase. Suicide is never in your fashion, and however much you fear being bound eternally to my name and side, you fear being thought of as weak far more."

I didn't take his water. He shrugged and poured it down the nearby sink. It was then I realized I laid in the Big House. "Why am I here?" I demanded.

The Torturer clicked his tongue disapprovingly and wheedled at a block of wood with his curved knife. "Because you overstepped your bounds twice in close succession," he stated simply just before plunging his knife unexpectedly and loudly into the cabinet. I jumped. "What bravery you possess," he hissed, nose-to-nose with me while his black eyes twinged red from rage. "To disobey me _so_ freely, as though you were walking on air. No, you should not have spurned my advances. You should have never gone to that filthy Oracle for advice. You should have stayed in your cabin. Her death is on your hands."

He snapped back and pointed grandiosely at the cot opposite mine. On it was a body covered completely by the sheets, safe for the smallest strand of red hair.

The first sob came suddenly, and my hand flew to my face as though to stop it. But more ransacked me, and pretty soon my hand only clamped over my mouth in a vain attempt at muffling the weak noises. Every fiber of my being wept from the pain of seeing Rachel lying there, motionless and _dead_. It didn't seem possible. Only a few minutes ago, Rachel was as lively as ever, joking and painting and just being Rachel. My friend. The girl I always squabbled with over Percy or anything. The one I depended on for comfort when I left my boyfriend. The mortal who managed to gain my trust.

And she was dead.

_Her death is on your hands._

The tears stopped completely, the sobbing died. And all of the sudden, all I felt was numbness. All over my body. Not even a tingling in my fingers or a vague understanding of who I was, where I was. Just nothing. This was the infallible chains of guilt, I mused as I sunk down into the mattress. I brought this on myself, and now I would pay the price.

I started to close my eyes and felt something cool brush my arm. "Time to atone," The Torturer breathed into my ear, and I didn't stop him as he dragged the knife over my arm. I winced, but there were no tears to fall. No noise fell past my lips. I laid there, stoic, emotionless, feeling as dead as Rachel was.

But then, a warm breeze rustled my hair. I blinked, but my eyes didn't open. I found myself submerged in blackness, floating free of the pain on my arm and the disgrace from the Torturer being pressed against my body. And then a light flicked on in the distance and I saw Percy, chained to a wall and bleeding from every orifice.

"Percy!" I cried, running toward him only to hit a wall. But he heard me and looked up. A faint smile played across his red face. "Percy, oh gods! Are you alright? What's going on?"

Percy's smile vanished and his eyes flitted to my wrists. Suddenly, something very hot wrapped around them and I was dragged backward too quickly to understand what was happening. "Annabeth!" he screamed. "Fight him! Whatever he's doing, you're stronger! He'll lie to you just to make you feel bad, but you have to fight him. He is Fear, but he can't make you fear him! Don't make my mistake. Fight him!" Percy tried to break free of the chains, but then a fist came from the shadows and smacked him against the jaw.

The light went out.

And then it came back on.

I shoved the Torturer off of me, making his newest cut deeper, but I didn't care. Adrenaline surged through my veins. "Third time's the charm," I growled, swinging my legs over the bed and holding my arm to stem the blood. "I didn't kill Rachel, you did. And she died trying to stop you. I will be damned to the deepest, darkest pit of Tartarus before I let her sacrifice go to waste."

The Torturer couldn't have been more shocked. "What?" he demanded. "Again? You dare defy me again?"

I nodded, returning to my own. "And this is not the last time. I'm not going to marry you, Torturer. Somehow, I will find a way to defeat you. And you won't get out of Tartarus ever again."

He gaped at me, then worked his jaw up and down. I feel power come back to me in a rush, just as it had after I denied him myself when he tried to rape me. Fear deflated gradually, and all I felt was an onslaught of hope and strength. When he stepped toward me, I pushed him back. When he brandished his knife, I disarmed him. When he attempted to bewitch me with his black orbs, I stared straight in and thought, _This one's for you, Rachel._

The Torturer growled in defeat and left with his tail between his legs. This time, when the door closed, I didn't collapse to my knees. I stayed standing, staring at the doorframe where he had stood just seconds before.

And then I turned and looked up at the attic. With one last apologetic glance at Rachel's body, I started up the stairs.


	14. Amassing

Chapter Fourteen

Amassing

This was it, I thought as I stared at Rachel's pale face. The sheet rested on her collarbone, revealing blue lips contrasting against an ivory complexion. Her matching-skinned hand hung limply over the edge of the bed, and I sunk to my knees and took it in both of my hands, pursing my lips and scrunching my eyes closed to keep from crying.

"I'll fix this," I breathed into the dead girl's ear. "I promise." I rose then, knees knocking, but not from fear. Nor from grief. The only emotion I had left out of the Torturer's control was determination. Patriotism. Compassion.

Love.

I covered Rachel's face, but hesitated when I saw the clean white blanket over her. There was a single stain of blood on her side, and my mind reeled.

I looked back at the door, then looked up at the attic, and a plan formed cohesively in my plan. Every step, every move, every counter-move. Everything. I raised my hands, tinged red with Rachel's blood, and remembered the stories of Robin Hood. My father, smiling at my five-year-old, telling me of a folktale from the thirteenth century that he would never know would impact my life so strongly.

_"And when Robin wanted to gather his Merry Men," my dad carried on in urgent tones, scooting forward on his seat as I leaned in from my bed. "He'd fire one, perfect arrow into the crowd with his face on it. That was their sign to join him in Sherwood Forest the night Maid Marian was captured . . ."_

I sprinted through the door, pulling a knife from the table and slashing a monster on my way. It didn't matter what the Torturer did to me or to anyone else for one very simple reason:

We had a plan.

* * *

I worked tirelessly in a small alcove, hidden from sight. Monsters came in and out constantly, but the place reeked too strongly of a mortal girl and they couldn't find me. Thus, I continued sowing and weaving with the speed and accuracy that would have made my mother proud. I knew it wasn't my hands guiding the needle, but that made no difference. If anything, it proved the gods hadn't completely abandoned us to a fate worse than death.

I worked in dim lighting, nearly non-existent, and stuck my own fingers numerous times. Blood stained the edges of my project, but that made little difference to me. I hissed against the pain, but it only increased my drive to win.

And besides, the crimson made it authentic.

* * *

Three nights later, I folded my message in my pocket, holding it against my body as I donned dark clothes and hid my hair under a muted bandanna. I tip-toed back toward the Big House, forcing my breath in and out through my nose. Each footfall was bare-footed, which made stealth a little easier. It hurt when I stepped on a twig, but I could bear pain. What I couldn't bear was one more day of this living hell.

I had one week before I married the Torturer. And I had _so_ much to do between now and then.

"That Chase girl must have found a way out," I overheard someone saying. Loud footsteps approached, coming toward me from the Big House. I tumbled out of the way before the light of their torches illuminated a mysterious figure going through a lot of trouble to stay unseen.

Two demigods walked out, and it was actually a flashlight. One of them was male with unremarkable brown hair, while the other was a woman, maybe three years older than me, with dark black hair. They chatted like they'd known each other for years.

"Yeah," the female agreed, sighing. A bit of gold light caught her face and I glimpsed her knife, sheathed at her side. "I would have loved to run her through too. I never liked know-it-alls."

To my displeasure, they sat down on a bench warding my path. I cursed mentally, snapping without actually making a sound, and looked around for another means past them.

The guy groaned, stretching and draping his arm over the girl's shoulders. He kissed her on the forehead. "You have such a big heart, Lucia," he teased, and I could tell from his tone it was an inside joke between them.

"Well, it is pretty difficult to chisel a _small_ stone."

The boy and Lucia roared with laughter, but I couldn't find the humor in it. Aside from dark wit. The girl seemed to ooze that particular quality.

They continued talking, and I noted the irony when Lucia called him "Lucifer." I couldn't tell if that was a nickname or his real name, because he responded with the small gusto she did to her name and his jeering titles for her. Their conversation would have reminded me of Percy and I if not for two main things: A, I would never let Percy call me cheesy nicknames and nuzzle noses. B, the dark humor that surveyed their entire discussion chilled me to the bone.

Finally, like interference from above, the boy announced, "It's getting late. We wouldn't want to be tired for the debriefing tomorrow morning."

I caught sight of Lucia's smirk as she kissed him goodnight. "Oh come on, Lucy. We both know what Ole' Torture has. On his wedding night, we kill every last demigod here, ship them down to Tartarus in his stead, and he gets rid of Jackson's carcass and lives his immortal life as King of Everything. It's not really shocking."

My breath hitched, and I had to fight not to step out of place or alert them to my location. On my wedding night, everyone was dead? Everyone? How long has this been the plan? Was it part of the agenda from the beginning? How didn't I know this?

I wanted to scream, but bit my tongue to hold in the exclamation. I watched the boy and girl part ways, the girl jogging past me. Luckily, she had terrible night-vision, hence the reason _she_ carried the flashlight. Finally, the speck of illumination faded away and I was safe to move.

I made it to the Big House doors and donned my invisibility cap. And before you ramble on about how not wearing it before had been stupid and etc. and so forth, I would like to remind you that I am a daughter of Athena. Why would I overlook something so vital as my Yankee's hat?

After securing it on my head, I lowered my voice and shouted, "Hey!" The two Cyclopes standing guard, being the idiots they were, stood and looked in my direction. "The Athena girl was spotted up the mountain, by the Oracle cave. She has a camp there. Destroy it all, and if you catch her, great. Go now. And get any of your friends from inside. You need all the backup you can get in case its a trap, and it's not like anyone's going to break into the Torturer's torture chamber."

Surprisingly, my overlong speech did the trick. They scrambled over themselves in haste to break post and head for the mountain, and they were gone a handful of seconds later.

I made quick work of getting through the door, selecting from I needed from the rich variety of torture implements and weapons, and stormed up the stairs, pulling the string to lower the ladder upstairs. I climbed the seven rungs like a monkey, reaching the top and lighting a torch. I didn't have time to waste.

Luke and Bianca - thank the gods - were awake, but both of them were dazed. Luke's blond hair was caked with blood, and Bianca was bruised in every visible part of skin. They looked like hell chewed them and spit them back out again.

Luke saw me, and his one un-swollen eye narrowed. "Annabeth?" he breathed, shaking his head. "What are - ?"

"Shush," I hissed, motioning frantically for him to keep his voice down. "They might hear you." I ran over to Bianca and used the two hairpins I'd appropriated from Rachel's cave to undo her shackles.

The daughter of Hades stared at me in growing gratitude. "My gods, Annabeth, he'll kill you for this."

"No, he won't," I told her, beaming as I handed her the bow. She took it, staring at the rough wood like it was alien. "I know it's not good quality, but it's the best I could come up with. I need you to do me a favor."

Bianca nodded excitedly.

I pulled out my fabricated message and handed her the only arrow I had. "Attach this," I held up the woven cloth. "to this," I proffered the arrow. "And fire it at that tree." I motioned where I wanted, at a single tree, standing in the middle of a bunch of huddled half-bloods bodies. None of them slept, no matter what they wanted the monsters to think. "I can't afford a misfire. This is all I've got to give you. It has to be accurate, and it can't be too obvious. The monsters can't know until the demigods get a look. Am I understood?"

Bianca scowled, but she nodded anyway. I helped her impale the banner on the arrowhead, forcing my breath to slow as I heard the trampling of feet from downstairs. The monsters had gotten back too soon.

"My gods," the ex-Huntress whispered, looking back at the door. "We're all dead now."

"No," I told her. "We're not. Take this a fire it. Now!"

She fumbled at her movements, which scared me about the end result. Then she raised the bow, pulled the string taut against her lips, and aimed. That took at least thirty seconds. Her dark eyes took on a determined sheen, and I watched with growing anxiety as she took a deep breath. Footsteps continued thundering up the steps, but she didn't seem to mind.

And then, so quickly I was hardly aware it had happened, she fired.

I strained to see the trajectory, and the arrow flew sure and true, embedding itself in the tree. Demigods scrambled up in alarm, pulling my call to arms from the trunk and passing it around as Cyclopes pushed their way through. Even from here, I could hear the excited murmuring from the Arena. I smiled.

"Okay, now get back in the chains," I commanded.

Bianca gaped at me. "What? No! I just-"

"Do it!" I barked, fighting to keep my voice inaudible from beyond the door. My heart raced the monsters drew in. "I've got it all planned out, but if you don't get back where you were right now, we're all dead. Just like you said. Now do it."

Bianca didn't waste any more time arguing. I helped her clink the chains back on, gathered up the bow, and smashed my hat on my head just as the door burst open.

"What's going on - ?" The lanky Cyclops looked around in bewilderment, like he'd just gotten poked on the shoulder by a ghost. "We heard voices!" he barked at Bianca and Luke, who shrugged like nothing happened.

"We were talking," Luke told them, and they scratched their heads. "There isn't much else to do up here, now is there? Now go away. Our lives are miserable enough without you stinking up the joint. Scram!"

The Cyclopes shot him a dirty look and left again, their large yellow behinds disappearing behind a closed door.

I sighed in relief and took off my cap. Luke glowered at me. "What are you doing?" he demanded, back to a whisper. "Put that thing back on! How are you going to get out of here without it?"

I smiled at him and replaced Bianca's battered cap, which sat on the torture table beside the various implements the Torturer used. I took her possession while setting down my own. "Luke, do you remember Houston?"

He scowled, and I could see the bitter memories sweep over his face.

I stared at him pointedly, and his mouth opened, but he said nothing. Then he nodded. Bianca looked between us incredulously, but I knew Luke would explain it all to her later. Meanwhile, I had things to do.

"Good luck," I bid them, and Luke called in kind to me as I swung my legs over the windowsill, locking my teeth against each other, pressing my tongue against the roof of my mouth, and inhaling before letting myself fall.

**The story unfolds. Two more chapters and it's over.**


	15. Something Used

Chapter Fifteen: Something Used . . .

I went weightless for a good three seconds before hitting the ground rolling. I tucked my head to my chest and crumpled on impact, redirecting the momentum of my fall into the landing, and came up only a little sore. I cracked my neck and sprinted toward my cabin, knowing the Torturer would be there in very little time, and if I wasn't in bed, he'd punish Luke and Bianca.

My feet pounded into the grass, wet from humidity generated by the water dome. I weaved between monsters, clinging to the shadows so all they heard was a suspicious plopping, but barely made out a shadow. Luckily, most of the watchmen were Cyclopes, putting their poor eyesight to my advantage - intimidating monsters they may be in force, and a powerful dissuasion to people not wanting to risk getting caught, but they couldn't see twenty feet in front of them any better than a mile away.

My breath quickened along with my feet, and I sensed the Torturer drawing nearer. The air around me cooled like it did just before a winter storm, and the atmosphere became palpable. My blonde hair hung over my face, wet from dew and perspiration. My cabin was still so far away . . .

I suppressed the fear solidifying in my chest. That would only single me out, and I couldn't let the Torturer know my plan.

I made it, just as the Torturer barked at three one-eyed watchmen at the showers. Not daring to enter through the front door, I slipped through the unlocked window - left so purposely by me, thank the gods the Torturer didn't notice - and jumped as I hid my shoes and dirty, tattered clothes under the bed. I could hear Percy's voice - just gravelly enough to be discerned as Ancient and evil - drawing closer. I doused my face in water from a glass on the desk on the far side of the room and wiggled into a nightgown, untying my hair as I leapt into bed, pulling the covers over me and hiding my head in the pillow.

I had three seconds to compose myself before the Torturer kicked the door open. "She's not here!" he declared before he even crossed the threshold. "I knew it! Kill seven demigods for this outrageous - "

"_Di immortales!" _I swore, sitting up in bed and rubbing my eyes for show. "What are you screaming about? I was sleeping!"

The Torturer froze in the doorway, hand still raised in command. His onyx eyes turned to me, and I perked up at the pure shock reflected in them. "Chase?" he gaped, gulping and blinking. "You're here?"

"Where else would I be?" I demanded, sitting up completely and crossing my arms over my chest. The effect of having the blanket fall over to reveal a clean gown dropped the Torturer's jaw further. "What are you ranting on about?"

The Torturer stumbled forward as though he couldn't believe his eyes. "How long have you been back?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Three days. Where have you been?"

His eyes widened. "And how was I not told this?" He whirled on the Cyclopes flanking him, and they doubled over, screaming in fear. He stormed over to me, grabbing me by the collar and hauling me out of the bed. Terror seized my throat and I pushed away from him, but I couldn't break his grip. "You're lying," he hissed. "You haven't been here all that time. I've _been_ here, checked on you myself. This cabin was empty." He lifted his left arm, fingers curled in a fist. "I do not like being lied to!"

I threw up my hands, blurting the first thing that came to mind. "I was with the others in the Arena!" I spit out desperately, knowing the wall of fear would hit me if the Torturer got carried away. I couldn't trust my mouth to remain shut if he decided to interrogate me. The Torturer stopped, hand halfway to my nose. "No one was stopping me, so . . ."

"My sentinels would never have let you," he hissed.

I swallowed. "They didn't see me," I told him. "All those demigods milling about. I dressed normally. No one spotted me. No one talked to me either. I swear."

"So you weren't just in the Big House?" he asked, sounding half-convinced.

To my credit, I pulled off affronted rather well. "Why would I be in there?" I demanded. "The only thing there is Rachel and your toys. No thank you." I wrenched his fingers off my gown, and the Torturer scowled as he released me. I fell back to the bed.

"Is that so?" He smiled, and my blood ran cold. He grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. "Well, why don't we don't just double-check, huh?"

He dragged me from my cabin, moving with a wide gait, forcing me to jog behind him. We made it to the Arena in very little time, and he threw to the ground at the feet of an empousa, whose flaming hair singed my hair when she bent down to poke me experimentally.

"Attention, half-bloods!" the Torturer boomed. A congregation of campers turned to face him, surprised. Malcolm pushed forward, then stopped dead when he saw me. "I have been informed by my fiancee that she has been spending some quality time among you without telling me. Is this the truth?"

Malcolm stared at me, blinking. I gave him a curt nod, but did nothing else betraying my standing.

Thankfully, my brother understood. "Yes," he said miserably. "I told her not to, that you'd be angry, but she wouldn't listen."

The Torturer looked down at me. "I'm going to the believe the word of your own flesh and blood?" he scoffed. "No. You!" He pointed at Drew Tanaka, a cocky Aphrodite girl with a magical voice, and she staggered from the crowd. Her Asian tan caught the moonlight perfectly, and even roughed up as she was, her mother's beauty shined through her. My hated sunk to my toes. Drew hated me with a passion because Percy had been the only guy in Camp who hadn't fallen for her when she started flirting with him, and it was because of me. She wanted me dead.

Her brown eyes found me, and they were anything but friendly. "Actually . . ." she began, then stopped and looked over her shoulder at the other demigods. They stared at her in horror, and they all knew her answer. I braced myself for the cataclysm. "Yes."

My head snapped up and I gaped at her in disbelief. Drew gave me a subtle wink, a warm smile worming across her face as she sauntered forward to rub the Torturer's arm.

"She was here just last night, in fact. Every night. Little bitch was going to get us all killed." She shot me a very sincere look of contempt. The meaning was clear: You owe me. She turned back to the Torturer, squeezing his arm. "She has no respect for _real_ power."

The Torturer's expression turned wistful as he looked at Drew, and my stomach curled. He snapped his fingers. "Have this one sent to my ladylove's cabin immediately."

The empousa at his beck and call faltered. "Why?" she questioned, sounding honestly astonished.

"Because she is clearly a daughter love, and her presence will quicken matters of marital status." He looked down at me as I rose to my feet, horror gripped my chest. "My dear, I am decided. I will wait no longer to be joined with you. Age matters not. We will be wed in two morrows. This is my will, and so it will be done."

He pressed a kiss to my lips, and I threw up in my mouth.

I looked back to Malcolm, and he smiled, nodding with a sign language _great_ on his right hand, just out of the Torturer's line of sight. I winked at him as the Torturer dragged me off.

It was all going according to plan.


End file.
